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A GIRL OF DUBLIN 













By KATHARINE ADAMS 



Mehitable 

Midsummer: A Story for Boys and Girls 
Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 


































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































WISP 

A GIRL OF DUBLIN 


BY 

KATHARINE ^DAMS 

AUTHOR OF “MEHITABLE,” “MIDSUMMER,” ETC. 


Illustrated by 
JAY VAN EVEREN 


gorft 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1922 


All rights reserved 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



Copyright, 1922, 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and printed. Published October, 1922 . 




/ 


Press of 

J. J. Little & Ives Company 
New York, U. S. A. 


OCT 11 'll 

©C1A686199 















vJ 

vN 





1 Cf 
- 



To 

NANCY, ERIC, ASHBOURNE 

AND ONE OTHER 






















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I In the Green . i 

II Wisp.18 

III The House in the Square .... 28 

IV On the Barge.44 

V “Over There is India”.59 

VI Patrick and Blighty Meet Foggy . . 72 

VII The Class in the Court.87 

VIII The Pantomime.102 

IX Auntie Moneypenny Turns, Comforter 115 

X Christmas.127 

XI “Little Town of Bethlehem” . . . 143 

XII Nina and a New Plan.156 

XIII Flowers and Jeffers Court . . . . 171 

XIV The Apple Tart Woman.182 

XV In the Secret Room.191 

XVI Victoria Visits Fairy Cottage . . . 206 

XVII In the Butcher’s Cart.225 

XVIII The Night on the Island .... 242 

vii 














Contents 


viii 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX The Fairy Hill. 257 

XX The Cricket Ball Finds Them Out . 273 

XXI For Keith. 287 

XXII Irish Spring. 304 
















WISP—A GIRL OF DUBLIN 

I.—In the Green 

“You needn’t try to comfort me, Chrissie, for you 
simply can’t do it. Please let me alone!’’ 

“Beryl, people are watching us. Do stop crying 
and let’s go over to the duck pond! I’ve a chunk 
of bread left and the ducks always make you laugh, 
especially the old grandfather one that is so greedy 
and fights the others. He will cheer you up!” 

“He couldn’t to-day! That’s all we do—just 
feed the ducks, have lessons, and walk in the green. 
Any one would think we were eight instead of 
fifteen!” A sob choked the last words, and Beryl 

i 







2 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Langsley covered her face with her arm, her long 
braids of brown hair falling about her shoulders. 
Her sister looked at her helplessly and then off at 
the winter stillness of St. Stephen’s Green in Dub¬ 
lin, off to where the mild sunshine made the winding 
duck pond a frail silver curve through the gray, leaf¬ 
less trees. Laughter came from the edge of the 
pond where a group of ragged children were having 
a contest as to who could throw their bit of bread 
the farthest. 

“Here’s Miss Peck. She’s coming along by the 
upper path and she sees you’re crying.” Christine 
Langsley patted her sister’s arm vigorously. A 
short woman with nearsighted eyes and sandy hair, 
dressed in a brown frieze suit and a shabby little 
hat, came up to them. 

“Dear, dear, Beryl, what is the matter?” she 
asked with real concern. Beryl was feeling about 
for her handkerchief, and, not finding it, accepted 
the one that Christine shoved into her hand, and 
before she could reply Miss Peck exclaimed again: 

“Surely, Beryl, you haven’t lost the pretty blue 
handkerchief that came to you in one of your letters 
from girl friends in America, this morning? I saw 
you put it in your pocket when we started out!” 
ejaculated Miss Peck. 

“She’s dropped it somewhere. I’ll go and look 
for it,” suggested Christine. 

“That’s a good girl, Chrissie! It might be down 
by the pond. But what is the matter with your 










Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 3 

sister ?” The question, though addressed to Chris¬ 
tine, was intended for them both. 

“She’s homesick, Miss Peck. She says we’re 
missing all the fun. The letters from home this 
morning told of all they’re doing.” 

“All who are doing?” put in Miss Peck. 

Beryl gave her eyes a last vigorous rub with her 
sister’s handkerchief and looked up at the gov¬ 
erness. “You can’t understand,” she said. “There 
is no use in trying to explain, for you simply cannot 
understand.” Beryl spoke earnestly, a half sob in 
her voice. 

“You see, Miss Peck, two years seems such a long 
time. Father told us it would be two years before 
he’s ready to go back, and we’re missing such a lot,” 
explained Christine. 

“All our home friends will be growing up. We 
missed all the fun at camp last summer. Oh, you 
haven’t any idea what that means, Miss Peck. I 
just can’t explain. Pm sorry I’ve been so foolish and 
I know you can’t understand, Pecky dear. You don’t 
know anything about our real life. You’ve just seen 
us here in Dublin doing lessons and taking walks in 
the green.” 

Miss Peck looked a little helplessly from one to 
the other of the two girls. The situation seemed 
for the moment beyond her. Then suddenly she 
smiled, and when she spoke it was in a different tone 
from any they had ever heard her use, and what 
she said was: “I have a secret!” 








4 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Beryl shrugged her shoulders. She was sure that 
Miss Peck’s secret would be a stupid one. Christine 
showed only faint interest. “A real secret?” she 
asked. 

“Yes,” answered Miss Peck slowly, “one that 
seems overpowering.” 

Beryl put the handkerchief in her pocket. Some¬ 
thing in Miss Peck’s tone caught her imagination. 
“Well, if it really is overpowering I’d like to hear 
it. I’ll tell you, Pecky dear, what we’ll do. Let’s 
go over to the D. B. C. and buy some crumpets and 
toast them for tea over our fire. Then you can tell 
the secret! Isn’t that a good idea?” She looked 
at Christine and at Miss Peck and they could both 
see that she had brightened considerably. She was 
given to sudden ideas, and this one seemed to her 
especially nice, the secret making it more than an 
ordinary occasion. 

Miss Peck agreed to the plan, but they first began 
a search for the lost handkerchief, each taking one 
of the paths where they had been walking about 
for the past hour. It was growing late and the 
park was deserted except for the children by the 
pond and a group farther away, nearer the entrance 
gate. Christine came upon them around a curve of 
the winding gravel, and before she saw them she 
heard their voices, for they were singing and the 
song sounded very sweet through the hazy twi¬ 
light air. Christine stood watching them for a few 
minutes without their seeing her. They were danc- 













Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 5 

ing, or at any rate Christine supposed that was what 
they were trying to do, though only one of them 
was really doing it. She was the smallest of them 
all and she was evidently the leader. 

Suddenly she turned and spoke to a stout girl at 
the end of the line. “You’re too heavy on your 
feet, Peggy Casey. Fairies ain’t like that! Step 
up and out this way!” As she spoke she floated, or 
so it seemed, along the path. She was so very thin, 
and she moved so lightly, that it seemed as though 
she might blow away with the leaves that danced 
along the path. No one followed her, and Peg 
Casey called out to her: 

“We ain’t goin’ to play fairies any more to¬ 
day!” 

The thin girl walked back to them slowly, and, 
as she did so, she saw Christine who stood watch¬ 
ing her. Then an instant later she spied something 
blue that was caught in the twisted branch of a bush. 
Quick as a flash she sprang forward and caught it, 
holding it in both hands and gazing at it in admira¬ 
tion. 

“Look at this, will ye! Ain’t it the sweet, wee 
thing? Shure, it might be the handkerchief o’ a 
fairy.” 

The others came up to her and she held out the 
dainty blue object with tiny pink rosebuds em¬ 
broidered in the corners. Then Christine stepped up 
to the group. 

“Pm sorry,” she said, looking from one to the 






6 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

other of the group and smiling. “That’s my sister’s 
handkerchief, and it came in a letter from America 
this morning. I’ve just been looking for it.” 

The very thin girl in the slimsy gray dress held 
out the handkerchief to her at once. 

“I’m glad I found it for ye, miss. Your sister must 
be a-breakin’ of her heart over the losin’ of it,” she 
said. 

Christine took the handkerchief with a “Thank 
you,” and then she added impulsively, “If it be¬ 
longed to me I’d love to have you keep it since you 
like it so much!” 

A little color crept into the girl’s face and 
she smiled at Christine, but a shyness had come 
over her and for a moment she did not answer. 
Then she asked, “Did you come from America, 
too?” 

Christine nodded. “Yes, it’s our home, and to¬ 
day especially we’ve been so homesick. Our father 
has left us here with a governess—he’s gone to 
Salonica. It’s pretty hard for us, just staying here. 
It’s so dull!” 

Christine never knew why she said all this to the 
shabby, thin little girl. Perhaps it was because of 
the grayness of the afternoon, the long dreary day; 
perhaps it was just the friendliness in the girl’s eyes. 
She was odd looking, there was no doubt of that, 
silhouetted as she was against the winter brown of 
the bushes. In her dull frayed dress and flapping 
old jacket, she might have been a part of the spirit- 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 7 

less bleak afternoon, a frail sprite of the leafless 
brush and trees, had it not been that she fairly 
sparkled with life and motion, with joy and buoy¬ 
ancy. She had very wide-open blue eyes and ragged 
gold-red hair. Her hair had evidently been cut with 
a pair of rusty shears which gave it a jagged, un¬ 
even appearance. 

She had listened breathlessly while Christine 
spoke to her, and the last word seemed to astonish 
her. “Dull,” she repeated after Christine. “You 
after sayin’ you ain’t happy here in Ireland, miss? 
You think it’s dull. Why, that seems odd enough.” 
She stood looking at Christine, not in a rude, staring 
sort of way but with pity, for she saw that Chris¬ 
tine’s eyes were full of tears. She felt very sorry 
for her, but she did not know how to tell her so. 
She had never spoken to a girl like Christine before 
and she felt all at once interested and shy and ex¬ 
cited. “Don’t you feel bad, miss, maybe you’ll like 
it better when the spring comes,” she said to Chris¬ 
tine. 

“Do you like it?” asked Christine. She thought 
afterwards that it was a silly question to have asked. 
The strange girl looked at her in a puzzled sort of 
way, then she turned toward the others who had 
come up close to her and were staring at Christine 
as hard as they could stare. The stout girl had a 
nice rosy face and a warmer jacket than the thin one,, 
but her stockings were full of holes and sagged down 
over her very muddy shoes. A boy of about three 





8 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

years old clung to her skirts and a pale-faced one 
with a red nose and watery eyes took her arm and 
tried to pull her along. 

“Let’s go, Peg. It’s a long way to granny’s,” he 
whimpered. 

“Come along, Kathleen, the cop’s near on us. It’s 
closin’ time,” urged the stout girl named Peg to the 
girl with the red-gold hair. 

Kathleen came quite close to Christine and touched 
her arm. “Be happy, please, miss. Oh, how can 
you think that Ireland’s dull?” she said. 

“Don’t you think these gray days when it rains 
so much are dull? But of course you have your 
friends.” Christine looked off at the rest of the 
little group as she spoke. Just then she heard a 
voice calling her and she knew that it was Beryl’s. 
“That’s my sister calling. I’m glad I’ve seen you.” 
She held out her hand as she spoke, and the thin girl 
took it and smiled delightedly. The others of the 
group had wandered on a little way toward the 
entrance gate and for a moment the two girls stood 
there on the gray, wind-swept path alone. 

“Don’t you know how to pretend, just think of 
things and make up the tales? That’s rare fun if 
you do be lonesome like, miss,” the strange girl 
said to her. 

Just then Beryl came running down the path .and 
like a flash Christine’s new acquaintance ran on to 
join her friends. “Where on earth are you, Chris¬ 
tine? I’ve called and called! What have you been 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 9 

doing?” Beryl was a little out of temper, for it 
was late and she wanted her*tea. 

“I found the handkerchief, or rather such an odd 
girl found'it. I’ve just been talking to her.” Chris¬ 
tine handed the handkerchief to Beryl, and they 
both stood waiting for Miss Peck, who was coming 
rapidly toward them down the path. 

‘‘Come, I’m sure it’s very late. The policeman is 
telling those children to leave. I see you have the 
handkerchief, Beryl,” exclaimed Miss Peck all in 
one breath as she settled her hat, which the wind 
had blown to one side. 

They walked on toward the gate, and Christine 
told her about the finding of the handkerchief. They 
were passing the children as she told about it and 
she smiled at the small gray-clad figure of the girl 
with whom she had just been speaking. 

“The very thin girl with the red hair found it, 
Miss Peck, such a nice girl. I’d like to have her tell 
me things. I mean—oh, well, I can’t explain!” 
Christine often began sentences and ended them 
this way, and both Miss Peck and Beryl were used 
to it. 

Miss Peck glanced at the little group as they 
passed by, and so did Beryl and Christine, the latter 
smiling and nodding. The governess sighed. It 
distressed her to see the scantily clad, unkempt- 
looking group. “They live in Cuff Street or one of 
the lanes near by, I dare say,” she said as they went 
out the great entrance gate. “It is a sad sight and 








10 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

they are forlorn little souls,” she added as they stood 
on the corner waiting to cross the street. 

They found themselves in the midst of a whirl of 
noise and bustle—newsboys, flower girls, beggars, 
and general confusion. They had to wait for quite 
a while on the corner while some heavy motor lorries 
filled with soldiers went by. Christine took Miss 
Peck’s arm, but Beryl stood very straight and inde¬ 
pendent, and it was she who knew the exact moment 
when it was safe for them to cross. 

When they were on the other side of the street, 
making their way toward the bakery, Beryl stopped 
for a moment, gazing after the lorries. “Just think, 
the war’s been going on for a year and a half. Oh, 
I do think I’m a selfish girl to mind any little trouble 
of my own.” She said this half to herself and half 
to the others, but they were entering the bakery door 
by that time and did not answer her. 

They bought the crumpets and some little currant 
cakes which Miss Peck assured them were very dif¬ 
ferent from those one used to have before the war. 
Both Beryl and Christine were interested in the 
war bread and cake, and though they had each of 
them a sweet tooth they did try to “save sugar,” 
and they had been several times to one of the refugee 
places to take sweets for Belgian children. It was 
new and strange and confusing, this war that seemed 
to be all around them, though it did not really touch 
them closely, living as they did so quiet a life with 
their governess. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin n 

A little while later they were toasting the crumpets 
over a hot fire in their own sitting room. Miss Peck 
sat close to the fire knitting a khaki-colored helmet 
and the two girls knelt in the warm glow, busy with 
their crumpets. When Beryl pronounced them just 
the right shade of golden brown Christine held a 
large blue plate while Beryl slid them off the toaster. 
The woman who kept the house where they had 
lodgings had brought up the tea tray and as soon as 
the crumpets were ready Miss Peck poured the 
tea. 

Miss Peck could not quite see what particular 
pleasure there could be in roasting one’s self in front 
of a hot fire, bending over until one’s back must be 
nearly broken, but Miss Peck could not understand 
a good many things. As she sat there with her 
knitting she felt that perhaps the girls were right 
in saying that she could not understand them. Well, 
she had some news for them. 

She had been engaged for them by their Uncle 
James in London, and had met them at the boat 
when they had arrived from America with their 
father, and had gone with them to the station to 
see him off when he had started for a special mission 
to Salonica, and then she had brought them over to 
Ireland because that had been their father’s wish. 
He felt that it was safer for them than remaining 
in England, because of the air raids, and also there 
was some property belonging to the family in Dublin. 
His mother had been Irish and he had spent some 




12 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

of his time there as a child. His English relatives 
had thought him exceedingly foolish in bringing his 
children to England, considering the times in which 
they were living, but he expected to be away for 
several years—who knew how long?—and in case 
of anything happening to him in the war he felt it 
best that the girls should be near their own flesh 
and blood. His brother James would always look 
out for them, and he wanted them to know some¬ 
thing of this part of the world. They themselves had 
not wanted to come. They were very fond of what 
they called their own country, America, having lived 
there since they were three, and all their interests 
and friends were there. Except for seeing the 
cousins! That, they had always wanted and had 
dreamed about. 

Christine sat down on a stool near the fire and 
Beryl stood with her cup in her hand, a crumpet 
balanced perilously on the edge of the saucer. Sud¬ 
denly she sighed lustily. 

“Goodness, Beryl, what is it now?” laughed 
Christine. 

“Oh, I was just thinking of the disappointment!” 
her sister answered. “Yes,” assented Christine a 
little sadly. They always spoke about the cousins 
that way. 

Miss Peck knitted very briskly for a moment. 

“When you think how we’ve always longed to see 
them and thought and thought about it,” Beryl 
went on. 


i3 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“And imagined about it,” put in Christine. 

“Then to reach London in a pea-soup fog and 
find that they were not coming. We knew, of course, 
that they’d be in school, and father doesn’t approve 
of boarding schools, so we wouldn’t have seen a 
great deal of them; but still— Oh, Miss Peck, don’t 
you suppose we can at least have a glimpse of Keith 
during his summer holidays as long as he’s the only 
one in England?” 

Miss Peck laid her knitting in her lap and looked 
first at Beryl and then at Christine, and almost 
together the two girl,s cried out: “The secret. Tell 
it right away!” 

Miss Peck only said: “I think, after all, I will 
have a currant cake and just a little more tea— 
that’s it, Christine dear, that’s quite enough.” She 
drank some of the tea and ate half a currant cake 
slowly. It was very aggravating of her, but as 
Beryl whispered to Christine when she filled her 
cup: “It’s probable that we’re going to the panto¬ 
mime or some stupid, childish thing.” 

Finally Miss Peck wiped her hands on a very 
large, immaculate linen handkerchief, and when she 
spoke there was rather a nervous quaver in her 
voice. “You don’t know how many sleepless nights 
I’ve had, girls, since the letter came!” 

“The letter! What letter?” asked Beryl. She 
sat down suddenly on a rather plump red velvet 
covered chair under a cold-looking picture of the 
battle of Waterloo, and her tea splashed over on to 






14 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

her saucer and down on to the skirt of her blue 
serge jumper dress. 

Miss Peck said, “Oh, Beryl,” but even she did 
not suggest for the moment that the skirt be wiped 
off. She was excited. She had lived such a quiet 
life for so long in the vicarage of a tiny English 
village with her old father, and now it seemed as 
though all sorts of new things were crowding into 
her life, all kinds of responsibilities. 

“What if I should tell you,” she said, looking first 
at one and then at the other, “what if I should tell 
you that they are coming back, after all? Your 
cousins sailed from India to-day!” 

Then Beryl burst out with: “Pecky, what are you 
trying to tell us? What do you mean? First you 
speak of a letter, and then—Oh, I can’t believe it;— 
you say our cousins are coming home to England!” 

Miss Peck shook her head, smiling. “They are 
not coming to England, except, that is, of course, to 
land from the P. O. steamer. They are coming here 
to Ireland and they are going to live with us!” 

There was a moment’s silence and then Beryl 
whirled around and around and, catching Christine 
about the waist, she danced her up and down. When 
they stopped, breathless, they both came up to Miss 
Peck and stood looking down at her. The color 
was high in their cheeks and they breathed quickly. 

“Oh, Pecky, tell us all about it.” 

“Christine, which one do you want to see most?” 
Beryl looked eagerly at her sister as she spoke. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 15 

“Joan, I think,” answered Christine. “She’s 
nearest my age; though, of course, there is Keith. 
Which one do you want to see the most?” she asked 
in turn. 

“Oh, Victoria, of course,” exclaimed Beryl, and 
then she turned again to the governess. “Are they 
all to come?” she asked her. 

“All except Keith, and he will spend his holidays 
with us. It seems the youngest child, Patrick, isn’t 
strong and they say that Victoria cannot stand the 
climate. Your Uncle Sylvester wrote me from India 
begging me to take them all, and your father and 
uncles have been corresponding about it. We shall 
live in that old house of your Uncle James’s on 
Fitzwilliam Square. It has been empty for a long 
time.” 

At this last bit of information Beryl and Christine 
could only look at each other in speechless delight. 
An old empty house filled with big, gloomy rooms! 
Could anything be more delightful? All of them 
together there. It seemed incredible! 

Beryl began to speak quite indignantly: “We 
should have been told before. What is this idea of 
treating us like babies? Why didn’t Uncle Sylvester 
write us, too, and why didn’t Uncle James write 
from London if we’re going to live in his house?” 
Beryl was so excited that her cheeks were positively 
crimson. She had all sorts of questions to ask and 
began to ply Miss Peck with them right away. Chris¬ 
tine went over to the window and stood there, look- 







16 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ing out. She was as excited in her own way as Beryl, 
but she wanted to think about it all for a few 
minutes. Some way she had felt differently, even 
before Miss Peck had told them the wonderful 
news. She had been happier ever since she had 
seen the little thin girl playing a fairy game in St. 
Stephen’s Green. She couldn’t explain it even to 
herself, but suddenly it seemed to her that if they 
only knew how to find it, Ireland might be for them 
a sort of enchanting fairy place. It was just them¬ 
selves that had made it seem dull. Christine clasped 
her hands together and stood looking out at the 
soft gray twilight. Just beyond them was the green, 
darkly gray against the faint primrose of the sky. 
The cousins were coming; that was splendid. She 
was very, very glad, but there was something else 
she wanted. It was to have the little gray girl’for 
a friend. She had been thinking of it on the walk 
home from the bakery and all the time they were 
having tea. It had seemed more important than 
Miss Peck’s secret. 

Beryl’s voice called her: “Come here, Christine. 
Come over to the fire. We’ve so much to talk 
over.” 

Christine came slowly across the room and sat 
down again on the stool by the fire. Beryl threw 
herself down on the floor beside her. “Why did 
you go over there by the window when there are 
so many dandy things to talk about? Miss Peck says 
we can go over to the house with her to-morrow 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 17 

and plan who shall have which room, and, oh, all 
sorts of things. Isn’t it going to be fun?” 

Christine nodded delightedly; then she hesitated 
an instant before she spoke. “All of us together in 
the big house there on Fitzwilliam Square—yes, it’s 
all going to be so different from anything we’ve ever 
done—everything is going to be different—and I 
want to love it here. I want to know the girl I was 
talking to in the green!” 

Beryl laughed, giving Christine a little hug. “Isn’t 
she dear and quaint, Miss Peck? Doesn’t she say 
funny things?” 

Miss Peck smiled indulgently. “Why should you 
want to make the acquaintance of the poor little 
Cuff Street child? She was just a little wisp of a 
thing,” she said. 

“That’s it,” exclaimed Christine. “Oh, I do want 
to see the cousins and I’m excited about their coming; 
but, well, I can’t say why, but I do want to know 
the Cuff Street girl. That’s the name for her, Miss 
Peck—you’ve said it—Wisp!” 









II.— Wisp 

“Make up your mind quick what ye want to do, 
Peg. The wind blows into me bones. Are ye goin’ 
to take Tin and Dawson to yer granny’s or are ye 
cornin’ with me?” 

“Let’s not go to granny’s, Peg. Let’s go to 
Fairy Cottage.” The red-nosed boy hesitated over 
the last words as though they had come to him as 
an afterthought, and Wisp gave him a quick, radiant 
smile. Never mind if her real name was Kathleen 
Magillicully; to us she will be forever and forever 
Wisp. 

“That’s it,” she said approvingly. “Dawson 
remembered the name. Pm goin’ to give a prize at 
18 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 19 

the end of this month to the one who says it the 
oftenest!” 

“What’s the prize goin’ to be?” queried the boy, 
grabbing the baby’s short skirt and dragging him 
away from the passing throngs. 

“Oh, I dunno, I ain’t decided.” 

The four of them, including the baby, stood a 
little to one side of a crowded corner just outside 
the green. People jostled them, but they managed 
somehow to keep the baby from being trampled on 
and to carry on a conversation among themselves. 

Peggy was hungry, and she knew that at her 
grandmother’s down on Amiens Street there would 
probably be fried herrings for supper, but there 
would not be any fun. She stood wavering. First 
she thought of Wisp’s “Fairy Cottage” and how they 
would all squeeze in, even baby, and even if there 
was very little to eat there would be plans and stories 
and a good time. 

“What have ye for supper?” she asked. 

Wisp thought for a minute. 

“There’s a quarter of a tin o’ cocoa and water’s 
free—that means cocoa all around. There’s an 
orange. Tin can have half and we’ll divide the 
rest. There’s two ha’penny buns and a half box 
o’ broken biscuits they gave me at Jacobs.” 

“Mother left a bit o’ cheese for my lunch but we 
didn’t go back for it. I sold two bunches o’ flowers 
for Mag Tooley and bought something for the three 
of us. We’ll git the cheese. It’ll help out!” said 







20 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Peg, still not quite certain but wavering towards the 
“Fairy Cottage.” 

“Cheese is fine. Will ye come, then?” Wisp but¬ 
toned the collar of her shabby coat at the throat as 
she spoke. It was the only button on the coat, and 
the rest of the garment flapped about her in a wing¬ 
like sort of way. 

“Yes, we’ll come.” This from Peg. 

“Good enough. We’ll make a feast of it. Come, 
then, I’ll carry Tin across the street. He’s safer with 
me!” So saying, Wisp picked up Tin, who put his 
chubby arms tight around her neck. She turned 
her face around and admonished him. “Hold on 
tight and don’t you dare wave your hand to the 
policeman or I can’t hold ye!” He gave a squeal 
for answer. The four at a sudden clearing started 
over. Halfway across the policeman greeted them 
familiarly. 

“For once ye waited like civilized human beings. 
It’s ginerally ye scramble right under the motor 
cars.” As he spoke he lifted Tin out of Wisp’s arms 
and carried him across the rest of the way to the 
sidewalk, putting him back in Wisp’s arms. The 
four started on up the far side of the green toward 
where they would turn off in their home direction, 
Cuff Street. 

Tin was heavy and Wisp was just about to hand 
him over to his sister Peg when he lurched forward, 
a very disconcerting way he had of doing; she 
stumbled a little, and they both fell into the arms of 


21 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

a very stout woman in a thick gray coat. She was 
carrying a number of bundles and one of them fell 
to the ground. Then all was confusion. Dawson 
leaned over and picked up the bundles, and Wisp, 
handing the baby over to Peg, looked up beseechingly 
at the red, flustered face of the woman. “Oh, 
ma’am, it’s me own fault, not Tinney’s. I go dream- 
in’ along, ma’am. That’s what they always says 
about me.” Wisp’s bright hair blew about her 
earnest upturned face as she spoke so apologetically. 
The woman smiled and did not seem in the least 
angry. She examined the packages and discovered 
that one was whole, but that the other, quite a good- 
sized apple tart, hot from the big bakery oven, was 
broken in large, crummy pieces. 

“There, there, child, never mind,” she said as she 
peered into the paper containing the tart. “I know 
you didn’t mean to do it,” she went on, looking at 
Wisp and then at Tin in Peg’s arms. 

“That child’s too heavy for you,” she said, turning 
to Wisp. Then her glance swept the four of them 
in swift, kindly fashion. “You can have the tart, 
children. You won’t mind it’s being broken, I know 
that well,” she exclaimed, and then, before they could 
do more than call out, “Oh, thank you, ma’am,” she 
had handed Wisp the paper-wrapped tart and with 
one last backward glance, her good-natured, ruddy 
face vanished in the crowd. 

They hurried on, almost miraculously escaping 
knocking other people’s bundles out of their hands. 






22 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 



At last they turned their corner and half a block’s 
walk brought them to a dark, cavernous opening in 
a dingy wall. They stopped while Peg put Tin down 
on the doorstep and stretched her arms. 

“Ain’t it a dream—the pie? Ain’t it wonderful? 
We do have a great life! There’s always some¬ 
thing happenin’!” exclaimed Wisp, and she was 
so delighted that she leaned over and kissed the top 
of Tin’s forehead. He made a grab at her and said, 
“Play horse!” 

Wisp shook her head. “We’ve three flights o’ 
stairs to git you up. That’s enough,” she said, shak¬ 
ing her head at him. 

“Til go for the cheese,” exclaimed Peg. “Til 
not be but a minute.” She ran on through a narrow 
courtyard, returning almost at once with something 
in a torn piece of brown paper. Peg’s mother had 
rooms off the court. 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 23 

They stopped a moment at the foot of a dim 
flight of rickety wooden stairs. “I’ll carry Tin the 
first flight,” volunteered Wisp. 

“I’ll take him up the next and Dawson can take 
him the last of all,” suggested Peg. This was 
agreed upon and they started, Wisp carrying the 
baby. 

“I walk,” remarked Tin, but they knew that was 
out of the question, for the flights were steep, so 
high that he could not have mounted one step alone. 
Wisp had to stop every few steps, and halfway up 
they all rested for a while. Then on again to a 
gusty landing where through half open doors came 
the sound of loud laughter and rough voices. Then 
the second flight; Peg puffing at every step; another 
dank, dusty landing; voices again; the last flight 
reached at last. 

Dawson did his share nobly, but his legs were so 
short it was difficult to tell whether he was carrying 
Tin, or vice versa. At last they reached the top 
of the last flight and Wisp raised her finger 
warningly. 

“Not a word out of yez or we’ll have the Kinsale 
twins on us. I’ll get the tea-kettle!” 

With this she tiptoed over to a ladder leaning 
against the wall at a far end of the hall, mounted 
it, disappeared behind a blue calico curtain and in a 
moment was back again, kettle in hand. It was a 
rusty kettle and it had no cover, but it was an impor¬ 
tant possession to Wisp. 






24 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“You go on up and I’ll wait for the kettle to boil,” 
she said to Peg. Then she ran on down the stairs. 

“She’s gone to Auntie Moneypenny’s to ask for 
room on her stove. I don’t blame her for wantin’ to 
keep away from the Kinsales, livin’ with ’em so long 
as she did. A whole tribe o’ kids yellin’ all the 
time, and Mrs. Kinsale ready with her stick!” com¬ 
mented Peg as they went over to the ladder and 
she hoisted Tin on to the first rung. 

Now began the last stage of their journey: the 
climb up the ladder. Dawson went ahead, Peg 
boosted from behind, and soon the three of them 
were safe on the other side of the blue calico curtain. 
Where did they go and what was Wisp’s Fairy Cot¬ 
tage? It was like this: A year before there had 
been an attempt to put fire escapes on the tenement. 
It had been a difficult task and had been given up. 
While investigating the men had built a shaft up 
near the boards at the far end of the hall. It was 
made of boards and was the shape of a small box-like 
room, very small, but still a room. This is what 
Wisp called her Fairy Cottage. 

After the men had gone she went up the ladder, 
her arms full of her belongings: a pillow, half a rag 
rug, the blue curtain, three books, the tea-kettle, a 
cracked dish or two, and a few other treasures. 
This is where she lived. Mrs. Kinsale, with whom 
she had stayed since she was a baby, did not care. 
She had eight children of her own. 

Fairy Cottage, that was what she wanted her 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 25 

friends to call it, and only her special chums ever 
saw it. The tenement children were curious about 
it, but they were in awe of Wisp. Only a few were 
asked inside the blue curtain. Tin and Dawson 
knew the place well for as brother and cousin they 
belonged to Peg, and she was Wisp’s dearest friend. 

In a short time their hostess was with them, 
appearing with the kettle and at once setting about 
making the cocoa. Peg spread a newspaper in the 
center and they all sat about it, close together. There 
were three cups, though one had no handle and the 
others were chipped. They gave the orange to Tin, 
as they had the tart. The broken biscuits and bits 
of cheese were ranged along beside the ha’penny 
buns. 

Wisp’s friend, Foggy Moyne, who lived below, 
and who drove a butcher cart, had nailed up a board 
for her which she used as a shelf. She kept her 
dishes on it, the three books, some neatly cut sheets 
of brown paper sewed together which she called 
her journal, and a few pieces of clothing. In the 
wall was cut a square hole and the sharp, sweet 
evening air blew in on them. It was a window. 
This same friend Foggy had cut it for her so that 
she could see the sky. No one but Wisp herself 
knew how she loved the sky. She reached up for 
an old black shawl and wrapped it about Tin, fasten¬ 
ing it, in spite of his protestations, with a safety pin, 
but leaving his arms free. 

“There’s more cocoa,” she commented, peering 







2 6 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

into the kettle. “You haven’t had your share, Daw¬ 
son. Hand up your cup!” She poured the rest of 
the drab-looking mixture into the cup without a 
handle, which he held out to her by one edge. 

“Did ye mind them girls in the green, Peg—them 
as stood lookin’ at us?” 

“I did. One of them was after talkin’ with ye. 
What did she say?” 

“She was sad like, and she’d been cryin’. Her eyes 
was red. What could the likes of her find to cry 
about, Peg?” 

“I dunno. She had bad news, maybe.” 

Wisp shook her head. “No, she hadn’t! She 
was dull. Ain’t that odd like? She says to me, it’s 
all gray and rainy here.” Wisp sat thinking, her 
head tipped sideways, the glory of her hair falling 
about her face. She had been thinking all the way 
home about the girl with the yellow braids who had 
spoken with her there in the green; the girl with the 
gentle face, the first one of her kind with whom 
Wisp had ever spoken. Some one who could have 
told her so much; she who knew so little. 

“Maybe you cheered her a bit. She was after 
smilin’ and she looked back at ye after she went 
along,” suggested Peg cheerfully. 

This was indeed a new idea, that she, Wisp, could 
have cheered up the charming stranger girl. How 
silly to think of it! Why, she wore such dainty 
clothes and she was so different—so different. Wisp 
smiled delightedly at Peg and cut her a very large 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 27 

slice of apple tart. It was fun anyway to think 
about it, and she was glad the girl had turned back 
and looked at her. 

At the end of the meal Peg leaned over and 
whispered to Wisp. “Have ye anything planned up 
for us to do to-night?” Wisp shook her head. 

“I’ll just be stayin’ in,” she answered. Peg had 
whispered because she did not want Dawson to go 
out with them. 

The party broke up, Peg and Dawson climbing 
slowly down the ladder, Tin between them. “It’s 
been grand. I’ll be back maybe after a bit if ma 
comes home soon,” Peg called up from below. 

“Come along,” Wisp called back. When she 
was alone she put the dishes in a little pile, ready to 
take down later to wash at Auntie Moneypenny’s, 
a little old woman whom next to Peg and her friend 
Foggy she loved most of all. Then she wrapped the 
black shawl about her. It was one that Auntie 
Moneypenny had given her, and going over to the 
square hole in the wall, she knelt, looking off. Faint 
\gray, then a film of something. “A cloud,” she 
whispered to herself. Then a glitter of silver blue. 
“Stars,” she breathed, pushing the hair out of her 
eyes. Blue-gray again and a frail glitter of some¬ 
thing white which she did not know was called the 
Milky Way, but which brought a smile to her face. 

Suddenly something big and gold and splendid, 
something that made her close her eyes. It was 
the moon. 









III.— The House in the Square 
Clang! 

“Knock again, Beryl. Perhaps she is deaf.” As 
she spoke, Miss Peck peered at the formidable door 
of Uncle James’s house on Fitzwilliam Square, as 
though she thought she could see through it. Beryl 
lifted the old griffin’s head knocker and let it go 
again. Clang! They listened, but did not hear a 
sound. The three stood looking at the neat door¬ 
plate above the knocker which was inscribed with 
the words, James Mortimer Langsley, Esq. 

It was a raw day, a week since the crumpet toast¬ 
ing and the secret. 

“I feel sure I won’t like her. Mink—what a 
name!” exclaimed Beryl, rubbing one foot against 

28 



fFisp—A Girl of Dublin 29 

the other to warm it. “She’s kept us waiting for 
the key a whole week; she might at least let us in, 
now she’s come.” 

“Listen, don’t you hear something?” put in Miss 
Peck. 

There was a faint sound of creaking steps. “In 
another moment the door will open and we’ll see 
what she’s like,” whispered Christine, and her sister 
answered with a little giggle. 

“Well, you needn’t whisper. She couldn’t hear 
through this door. Who cares anyway, what she’s 
like? I don’t.” 

The words were hardly spoken before the door 
was opened and a short, stout woman with a wrinkled 
face stood looking out at them. She wore a black 
and white checked dress and a white ruffled dust 
cap. 

“Well,” she asked a little fretfully, “what is it 
that you want?” 

After an instant she realized who they must be 
and before Miss Peck could speak she exclaimed: 

“The young ladies and Miss Peck!” 

The governess nodded smilingly. “Yes, we are 
here and so came to see the house.” She put her 
hand on Christine’s arm. “This is Miss Beryl,” 
looking over her shoulder at Beryl who had stepped 
back as the housekeeper had opened the door. “And 
this is Miss Christine,’’ giving the short, stubby 
yellow braids a little pat as she spoke. “We know 
that you must be Mrs. Mink.” 







30 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

The little stout woman nodded and gave a stiff 
little bow. “I’m sure I’m glad to see the young 
ladies and yourself, Miss Peck. Dear, dear, I never 
expected you this morning. The whole house is 
being cleaned from garret to cellar. Such a sight 
as met my eyes when I came in, tired out from being 
pitched about on the Irish Sea!” She raised her 
hands as though further words on the subject were 
beyond her. Then she stepped back, holding the 
door wide open, and they all came inside. 

The hall was dark and had a damp, musty odor. 
A woman was scrubbing the blue and white tiled 
floor. Several pails of water and some rags were 
on the floor and a broom, propped against the wall, 
fell down with a bang as they came in. 

“I’m sure I don’t know where to ask you to sit, 
and indeed there’s hardly room to walk about,” went 
on little Mrs. Mink. “Take care, miss, you’ll 
stumble over the broom.” Christine caught herself 
just in time and Miss Peck suggested that they just 
take a look around upstairs. 

“Everything’s helter skelter up there, too, miss, 
but perhaps you’ll not mind. I wish you had waited 
until to-morrow, miss, I do indeed. Such a sight as 
is this house !” Mrs. Mink threw up her funny little 
hands in despair and then called crisply to some one 
in the room beyond: 

“Get to work and don’t stand there staring!” 

The person in the next room, who proved to be 
a round-faced girl in a print dress, holding a broom, 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 31 

began to sweep energetically. Mrs. Mink turned 
toward Miss Peck and the girls. “You see, the 
whole house is in a stir-up and these new servants 
are sure to be idle and good-for-nothing.” 

Beryl walked over toward the stairway. “Pm 
going to look around even if everything is upset, 
Mrs. Mink. We’ve waited a week for you to come 
from England with the key and we don’t want to 
wait any longer.” She started to go up the stairs 
as she spoke and Christine followed her. “Cross, 
fussy old thing! I knew she was going to be like 
that! Fussy Bunch, that’s what I’m going to call 
her,” said Beryl as they reached the top and stood 
looking down into the cluttered hall. 

“Don’t you love the banisters?” exclaimed Chris¬ 
tine, touching the smooth, wide surface. “Won’t 
they be wonderful for Patrick to slide down? He 
must be just at the sliding age !” 

“Yes,” laughed Beryl as they went on down the 
hall. “Patrick and some one else I know who will 
never grow up, and adores sliding down the ban¬ 
isters.” She linked her arm in Christine’s and they 
went on together, into the first room on the right. 
It was a long, low, dark room and they saw by the 
book-lined walls that it was the library. There was 
the same musty odor about it that there had been in 
the hall. “It’s all musty and dusty and cold,” 
grumbled Beryl. 

Christine went over to one of the windows and 
tried to open it. “There isn’t any use in doing that. 








32 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

It hasn’t been open in years and years. Uncle James 
hasn’t lived here for ages.” Beryl came up to the 
window and looked out on to the neat, well-kept 
square, encircled in its iron railing. Christine pulled 
once more and then gave up. 

“It won’t budge,” she said, looking ruefully at a 
black stain of dust on her glove. Then she sud¬ 
denly gave her sister a hug. “Don’t look so forlorn, 
Berry. Can’t you see it the way it’s going to look 
with the firelight on the books, and flowers around 
in bowls and vases? Just think of all the fun we’re 
going to have! Two weeks more and we’ll see them 
all—and Victoria—you know how you’re simply 
dying to see Victoria!” 

Beryl continued to look gloomily out of the win¬ 
dow, and spoke as though she had not heard Chris¬ 
tine at all. “Last year at this time we were having 
sleigh rides at home, oyster soup afterward.” Beryl 
winked her eyes rapidly and Christine pulled her 
away from the window. 

“Come on, let’s look around at the bedrooms and 
decide where every one is to sleep.” 

It was a good idea, and Beryl cheered up almost 
at once. The bedrooms were just as dusty and for¬ 
lorn as the rest of the house, but it was absorbing 
planning who should occupy them. “This will do 
for Victoria and Joan—see, there’s another big room 
right off it for you and me. Isn’t that dandy?” 
Beryl took a notebook from the pocket of her jacket 
as she spoke, and began jotting something down, and 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 33 

Christine came up to her and peered over her 
shoulder. “I’m putting down some notes of things 
I want to buy. I had quite a talk with Pecky and 
told her that we wished to have something to say 
about fixing the house. She says she has no objec¬ 
tion to my choosing some of the draperies,” explained 
Beryl, eyeing the windows speculatively. “I ought 
to have a yardstick. If Mrs. Mink wasn’t such a 
grumpy old thing I’d ask her for one.” 

Christine wandered off into the hall. She could 
picture the rooms all freshly papered with new 
chintz curtains at the windows, but she was not so 
interested in the practical details. Beryl liked to 
plan. She was never so happy as when she was 
managing something, and when Christine came run¬ 
ning back into the bedroom she found her sister 
seated on a low window seat, her braids over her 
shoulder, writing busily in her notebook. 

“I’ve found just the room for Patrick, exactly 
what a little boy would like. It’s at the end of the 
hall and isn’t very large, but it has two windows. 
Come and see it!” 

Christine plumped herself down on the window sill 
beside Beryl. “Oh, how I wish the two weeks were 
over and it was the day of the night they were 
coming. Pecky says they’ll probably get in on the 
five-thirty boat. We’ll go down to Kingstown to 
meet them, of course,” she said. 

“Well, there’s heaps to be done before they do 
come,” exclaimed Beryl, jumping up all enthusiasm 










34 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

as Miss Peck appeared in the doorway. “Oh, 
Pecky! I’ve all sorts of ideas.” 

They showed the governess the room beyond, 
which they wanted for the cousins, and laughed 
when she was shocked at the forlornness of the old 
four-poster bed with its tattered curtains. “Just 
wait until we’ve finished with it,” boasted Beryl. 

For the next few days it seemed as though they 
lived in the midst of measures and cretonnes. As 
50 Fitzwilliam Square was still under the bombard¬ 
ment of the cleaning squad that was chasing away 
its cobwebs, the girls and Miss Peck had to do as 
best they could with an occasional peep in. It was 
fun choosing fresh wall paper for the bedrooms and 
the “Study,” an unexpectedly enormous apartment 
off the first half landing before one reached the top 
of the stairs. Mrs. Mink called it the “Return 
Room” and seemed to be more concerned about it 
than about any of the others. Miss Peck said it 
would be excellent for a schoolroom, and as the girls 
objected to the word, saying it sounded too childish, 
they called it the study. 

Beryl was very clever at sewing and she and Miss 
Peck really enjoyed making the curtains, but Chris¬ 
tine soon tired of hemming seams that were given, 
her, and used to go off and leave the two whenever 
an excuse came up. 

She had seen nothing of the “girl in the green,” 
as she now thought of her. It had rained for several 
days after they had met that afternoon of the Secret, 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 35 

and then the last days had been full of shopping and 
planning for the house. Christine found herself 
wanting to tell Wisp about all that had happened. 
Her name must be Wisp, it suited her so well! Chris¬ 
tine was thinking of her particularly one afternoon 
when, after a phone call from Mrs. Mink, they went 
over to the house. At last everything was as clean 
as soap and water, carpet sweepers, furniture pol¬ 
ish, and brooms and brushes could make it! Mrs. 
Mink had told them this triumphantly over the 
phone. 

“She doesn’t really want us to come, but I suppose 
she feels she must tell us that it’s ready. Let’s move 
over to-night,” suggested Beryl, as they stood again 
on the steps, waiting to be let in. A neat parlor 
maid opened the door this time and said that Mrs. 
Mink had gone to see an old friend in Glasnevin for 
the afternoon. This was good news to the girls and 
they immediately set about to “see the house” and 
they did it thoroughly. 

Christine whispered to Miss Peck, with a giggle, 
“Isn’t Beryl funny? She’s so glad Mrs. Mink isn’t 
here she doesn’t know what to do. I’ve never known 
her to be in awe of any one before!” 

They left the governess to look about at her 
leisure, and began their tour of investigation. Up 
and down, in and out they looked and discovered 
and exclaimed. It was really a delightful house! 
There were so many unexpected corners and turns 
and cubby-holes! There were three back staircases 







36 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

leading to different parts of the house, and they went 
up each one to see where it led. Two connected 
with the servants’ rooms and proved uninteresting; 
but the third was more satisfactory. As they 
reached the top they heard an odd dripping sound 
and when they came to the last step they found 
themselves in an empty attic-like room, only dimly 
lighted by a low latticed window. 

They stood in the center of it for a moment look¬ 
ing about and then Christine went over to the window 
and looked out. “There’s a nice little view of the 
garden from here but the room is awful, isn’t it— 
sort of creepy,” «she said, looking back over her 
shoulder. 

“I don’t know,” Beryl answered slowly. “I think 
we might do something with it. I’ll have to think 
about it before I say much, but I’ve an idea that we 
may find this the best room in the house. I mean 
the one that will mean the most to us,” she spoke 
meditatively and a little mysteriously, and Christine 
only said: 

“Bosh! It’s too spooky. It makes me think 
of all the ghost stories I’ve ever read. I can 
imagine all sorts of things here—let’s go down¬ 
stairs.” 

“Wait until I tell you my plan. It doesn’t need 
to look like this,” Beryl said as they went on down 
the stairs. “Don’t you think we may want a place 
quite to ourselves? This could really be very secret 
—see, the door leading to it looks almost like part 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 37 

of the wall. We only found it because we were 
poking around.” She shut the door after them as 
she spoke, and sure enough! It hardly looked like 
a real door at all. 

“What do you mean by a place to ourselves? You 
don’t mean a secret room that the cousins aren’t to 
know about, do you?” asked Christine. 

Beryl nodded. “Yes I do,” she said firmly. “You 
know we may not like them, the cousins—of course 
we probably will—I’m sure I expect to, but in any 
case we’ll want a place where we can be quite alone 
at times. I’m going to fix up the secret room and 
we’ll never tell any one about it. You see the 
servants won’t use the stairs, for they don’t lead to 
anything except the empty room. I don’t believe 
they’ll ever know it’s there. It’s just the thing for 
us.” 

Beryl led on toward the garden and Christine fol¬ 
lowed slowly. 

“You haven’t chosen a very pleasant place for 
our secret room—of course it’s interesting, but 
gloomy, and that drip all the time would make one 
‘nervy,’ as Pecky says.” 

“It’s only water from the eaves going down a pipe. 
Don’t be a goose! Let’s have a run in the garden,” 
Beryl called back over her shoulder. 

The garden was a surprise. It was long and 
wide and in spite of the fact that it was December 
there was a hint of green about it and it had some¬ 
thing growing and spring-like about it. It was a 







38 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

very charming place even on a damp winter day, and 
Christine as she breathed the sweet air could see 
it as it would be in the spring. 

They ran down through winding paths, delighting 
in the odd little twists here and there. There was 
a high brick wall all along each side and a rather 
drab-looking little summerhouse with the moldy 
statue of an odd little gnome-like figure in front of 
it. Beryl eyed the summerhouse speculatively. 

“We might make something of it. How would it 
be to paint it white? There are roses all around. 
See the bushes! I want to have garden parties next 
summer. Father said they used to have so many 
in the old days.” 

Miss Peck called them and they went on inside. 
“I want to match this bit of chintz to some sewing 
silk. Dear me, I wish I’d thought of it on the way 
here! We’ll just have time to finish the curtains 
for your bedroom before dark,” she said as they 
went down the steps. 

“I’ll go for the thread, Pecky, if you like. I 
want a walk,” Christine suggested. 

“That’s a good idea,” said Beryl decidedly. “We 
don’t need the blue thread till to-morrow morning 
and we can go right ahead and finish the curtains 
before tea. You needn’t hurry back for we’ll be so 
busy we won’t miss you, will we, Pecky dear?” Miss 
Peck looked a little anxiously at Christine. “You’re 
sure you’ll be all right?” she asked. 

“Goodness yes, Pecky. I’m old enough to go 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 39 

about the world alone, I should hope,” Christine 
answered a little crossly, but she waved her hand 
and smiled back at them as she turned off in the 
other direction. She went through the green but 
nowhere did she see a sign of Wisp. She went on 
through the gate and crossing the street went on 
down Grafton Street. She had grown to love this 
narrow thoroughfare with its fascinating shops, its 
crowds, its life and sparkle. Everywhere there were 
soldiers and there was a strained look on people’s 
faces that was not good to see. Christine did her 
errand, matched the silk exactly and leaving the 
shop hurried up Grafton Street. There were bright 
patches of color everywhere among the crowd; girls 
selling flowers. “Come little miss. Take just a 
wee bunch, that’s a lady!” Christine heard this on 
each side of her and through all the clamor of the 
street and the voices of the girls selling flowers was 
a low whine: “Give a ha’penny to a poor starving 
man, little missy,” or “God bless ye, give a copper 
to help a whole family wid no bread for their 
mouths, miss!” 

Christine was used to the beggars now, and though 
they made her heart ache she did not have the fear 
of them that she had had at first. She did give a 
ha’penny to the old man and then hurried on as 
fast as she could; and as she turned the corner lead¬ 
ing from Grafton Street she almost ran into a small 
figure which was standing with its face pressed 
against the window of a bookshop. It was Wisp. 







40 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Christine recognized her at once and went up to her 
and touched her arm, and she turned quickly. When 
she saw who it was the color rushed into her white 
face and she smiled radiantly. 

“It’s you, is it, miss!” she exclaimed. 

“Yes,” answered Christine. “I was so hoping 
I’d see you. I’ve thought about you so much.” The 
two girls stood smiling at each other in the midst 
of the busy corner. 

“I hope you’re not so dull now, miss.” Wisp 
spoke shyly. 

“Oh, no, indeed! Why, I’m so excited! Such 
a splendid thing has happened! Our cousins are 
coming from India. We’re all going to live together 
in Uncle James’s house on Fitzwilliam Square.” As 
she spoke a thought came to Christine and in her 
impulsive way she spoke it. “Come with me and 
have tea at the D.B.C.—do! I’m cold and we can 
have some good hot tea and really get acquainted. 
Please say you’ll come!” 

Wisp stood still in the midst of all the crowd, 
her hands clasped tightly together and her eyes filled 
with astonishment, gazing up at Christine. 

“Tea,” she repeated. “Tea in a real tea shop 
with you, miss?” 

“Why, yes.” Christine took her gently by the 
arm. “Come,” she said, “let us have tea together— 
why shouldn’t we? I want to know you better and 
I do believe there’s nothing like a sociable cup of 
tea to make people acquainted.” 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 41 

They were almost at the tea shop door. Wisp 
still hesitated but suddenly she said, “I will, miss,’ 1 
and she followed Christine inside. 

They found a table in a quiet corner and when 
the maid came up to them Christine ordered tea and 
toast. “War bread tastes better toasted,” she said 
cheerfully after the maid had gone. Her heart beat 
a little with excitement. She knew that she had 
done an unusual thing. The maid had looked at 
her curiously, though she had been polite. Wisp, 
sitting there in the quiet tea room, looked oddly 
different from anything around her. Her hair 
seemed wilder and more jagged than ever, her face 
thinner and the flabby jacket more threadbare than 
ever, but her eyes shone like diamonds and there was 
about her the strange charm—perhaps the mystery 
of Ireland. 

Christine soon forgot all except her delight in 
the new acquaintance. She told Wisp of the letter 
and the secret, then of the house, Mrs. Mink, and 
all that had made up her life during the last two 
weeks. They enjoyed the hot tea and toast and the 
shyness of both wore off as they sat there talking 
over the little meal. It was Christine who did most 
of the talking and it was Wisp who listened breath¬ 
lessly to many things that were new to her. She saw 
that Christine was enjoying herself in telling it all 
and as for her, it was all new, all enchanting; a life 
of which she knew nothing: a house, a garden, a 
sister, cousins, chintz, four-poster beds! It was like 





42 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

a fairy tale! She had read of such things. Yes, she 
could read—and dream! 

“I’ve heard tell of it all in books, miss, but I 
never thought to hear of it first hand,” she said to 
Christine, and Christine smiled at her beamingly and 
said : 

“Perhaps you’ll see it all some day. I’ve just 
talked on and on about myself, but Wisp—do you 
mind if I call you that? It seems to suit you—I’ve 
thought so much about that day in the green. You 
made me see Ireland differently, all of a sudden. 
I’ve wanted you to tell me things. Have you a 
mother, Wisp?” 

Wisp shook her head. “No, miss, I was after 
livin’ with a party called Kinsale, but I left her. She 
beat me.” 

Christine was silent for a moment and before she 
spoke again Wisp said, “I’ve good friends, miss. 
Old Auntie Moneypenny, she do be grand as gold 
to me, and Foggy Moyne who drives a butcher cart, 
and Peg.” Wisp smiled reassuringly at Christine 
who was looking troubled. 

The maid came up then and Christine paid the bill. 
Then the two girls went out together into the dusky 
afternoon. Wisp held out her hands a little timidly 
and Christine took them in both her own. 

“Thank you, miss,” she said simply. 

Christine held the two hands in both her own 
for a moment and looked earnestly at Wisp. 

“We’ll be friends, won’t we! Tell me,” she 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 43 

\.vent on, “do you live now with the kind old woman 
you spoke about?” 

Wisp shook her head. Some of her old assurance 
came back to her. 

“No, miss, I live alone. I’ve a wee place of me 
own,” she answered her. 







IV. —On the Barge 

“I’m sorry the new cook’s cousin died and she has 
to stay for the funeral. I mean I’m sorry for her 
as well as for ourselves, but, Mrs. Mink, we simply 
must move over to-day. We’ve planned it for a 
week. We can make a picnic of it and we’ll not 
mind a bit, but we simply must come 1 ” Beryl spoke 
determinedly, but the housekeeper did not seem in 
the least impressed and replied calmly. 

“Things must be done with law and order, miss. 
We can’t run the house properly until the cook 
comes. You’ll have to have a bit more patience for 
44 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 45 

a few days, but it’s something you don’t know very 
much about, patience, if you don’t mind my saying 
so, miss!” 

Beryl glared at Mrs. Mink and the latter returned 
the look placidly. A dozen angry words rushed to 
Beryl’s lips but she said nothing for a moment. She 
was very disappointed and indignant and she had 
never met any one like Mrs. Mink before. There 
was something so immovable and exasperating about 
her. The cousins were coming in a few days, the 
chintz curtains were finished and hung, and the house 
was cleaned, but because of the cook’s cousin’s sudden 
demise, they had to stay on in the tiresome rooms for 
a couple of days longer. She turned away without 
a word, walking down the steps of the Fitzwilliam 
Square house, and Mrs. Mink shut the door behind 
her quietly. 

A butcher cart drove up with a clatter in front 
of the house just as she reached the sidewalk and 
a boy called out to the fat little horse he was driving, 
“Hi, stop, Jumbles! You’re too merry of a morn- 
in’ !” If he had not said the word “Jumbles,” Beryl 
would not have noticed him at all, but as it was she 
looked up and smiled unwillingly. She had not 
thought of speaking but he had such a very round, 
red and smiling countenance, such round brown eyes 
with so jolly a twinkle in them that before she knew 
it she exclaimed, “What a funny name for a horse!” 

“Yes, miss, and he’s a funny horse. He’s like me, 
miss, full o’ ginger. That’s why I call him Jumbles.” 





46 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

He threw back his head and laughed and then jumped 
down off his high seat, and with some packages under 
his arm, disappeared down the walk leading to the 
“Tradesman’s Entrance.” He whistled as he went 
and it was quite a rollicking air. What a round 
face ! What a funny boy! She was cheered in spite 
of herself. 

Beryl folded her rose wool dressing gown and 
put it in the tray of her trunk, shut the lid, locked 
it, and going over to the table, put the key in her 
purse. It was after lunch and they were packing in 
their room. “I’ll not be ordered about and told 
what I can do or not do by Mrs. Mink or any one 
else. We could go over to-night if you and Pecky 
had any backbone,’but you’re afraid of her!” 

Christine sat on the edge of her bed, running 
ribbons in her nightgown. She nodded, smiling. 

“We’re all in awe of her and it’s much more inter¬ 
esting than having her a sort of wishy-washy person. 
We can think of her as a sort of queer little ogress 
who tries to spoil all our plans and fun,” she said 
as she went over to her trunk with the nightgown 
in her hand. 

“You’re really a perfect baby, Christine. Pretend 
she’s an ogress! Goodness, will you never grow up ! 
I can’t realize you’re only a year younger than I!” 
Miss Peck called from the next room and Beryl went 
on out, leaving her sister trying in vain to shut down 
the cover of her trunk. 

“Oh, I’ll leave it. I’m tired of fussing with 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 47 

things,” she thought, and she took up her jacket 
from the back of a chair, put on her blue felt hat with 
the gray feather, felt in her pocket and found her 
brown leather gloves were there, and called back 
as she opened*the door, “I’m going out!” Some one 
called back,-“All right!” 

Christine went on out into the sunshine. As 
she walked toward the green she drew in long 
breaths of the sweet air. She was so glad to be 
away from trunks and fussing and delays! She, too, 
was tired of their lodgings and was only too anxious 
to be finally settled in the odd old house, but unlike 
Beryl, there was so much beyond it, about which she 
wondered, much that she wanted to know and see 
and feel. 

The stout girl was in the green and the pale boy 
and the baby were with her, but not Wisp. The three 
were walking along by the pond. Every now and 
then the three-year-old would make a dash toward 
the pond and either the stout girl or the boy would 
dash after him. She had a nice face, Christine 
decided, as she walked slowly by them. Some one 
was coming toward them; some one who seemed to 
fly, so fast did she run down the path from the gate. 
It was Wisp, and there was no doubt that she had 
something to say. She stood breathless for an 
instant after she reached the little group, but in an 
incredibly short time she burst out with, “It’s to-day! 
Foggy says be ready at three. His friend on the 
barge has promised ! Oh, ain’t it grand?” 







48 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

The next instant she saw Christine and her face 
became even more illumined. 

“Good-day to ye, miss.” 

She was interrupted by eager voices. “Tell us 
more, Kathleen. *When were ye after hearin’ of it?” 
They came close to her and Tin, the baby, pulled at 
her skirt. Christine stood close beside them. 

“It do be Foggy’s afternoon off, seein’ he helped 
extra that week when Mr. Keefy had the influenza. 
Foggy, he went down to the quay as soon as he was 
let off and there was his friend, old Tuffy, and he 
says as how he would be a goin’ up the river wid a 
load and for Foggy to bring us along!” 

“What are you going to do? Won’t you tell me 
about it?” asked Christine. The others stared at 
her, but she did not mind and Wisp smiled eagerly, 
coming close to her and repeating her story. 

“It’s my friend Foggy, who drives a butcher cart, 
miss. He’s the rest of the day off and an old man 
he knows on one of the Guinness barges that go up 
the river is after sayin’ we can all go along, miss.” 
As she spoke the thought came to Wisp, a thought 
she dared not put in words. The little young lady— 
but of course she would never dream of such a thing, 
would never, never go! A sail up the river even on 
a barge—it seemed so odd. These children—to go 
with them, could she, or rather would she? This 
was Christine’s thought and so both girls stood there 
in the sunshine, neither wanting to put into words 
what they were thinking. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 49 

Peg broke the moment’s silence. “Shouldn’t we 
be after goin\ Kathleen?” 

Wisp nodded. “Straight away. There’s no time 
to lose for Tuffy wants to start at three.” She hesi¬ 
tated and finally, the color rushing to her face, she 
turned, speaking softly to Christine so that the 
others could not hear. “You’d niver think o' cornin’ 
on wid the likes of us, would you, miss? There’s 
the river and the sun is shinin’. We’d be glad o’ 
your company, miss, but maybe it wouldn’t do for 
ye?” 

Christine found herself saying, “I’d love to come. 
I’ve never been on a barge. Are you sure there’s 
room for me?” 

“A barge is big, miss. There’s room a plenty,” 
Wisp answered her. 

“I’ll come then if you’ll take me,” Christine said, 
and the others heard her and looked at her in round¬ 
eyed amazement. Then the little group started out 
of the green. 

It was a little strange walking down Grafton Street 
with them. Some people turned and looked curiously 
at them, the young girl in the dark well-fitting serge 
suit and the soft blue hat, neatly gloved and with 
dainty blue ribbon bows each side of her face; the 
thin, shabby, gaunt-looking girl walking beside her, 
with gold-red hair flying in the wind, and behind them 
an untidy, blowsy-headed girl and two ill-kept 
children. 

Peg called to Wisp. “Wouldn’t there be time 









50 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

just to red up a bit? I could be wearin’ of my red 
tammy.” 

Wisp spoke over her shoulder. “There ain’t time. 
We’ll have to go along just as we be.” 

Peg braided her hair as she walked. She felt 
vaguely uncomfortable. Why had she not worn 
her new cloth gloves? She looked down at Tinny. 
His face was clean, for she had scrubbed it well 
before they started out, and he had on the brown 
coat made over from one of Georgie Kinsale’s. Mrs. 
Kinsale had bought it at the Iveagh market in 
Francis Street and had finally handed it over to 
Peg’s mother for Tin. A high wind had stolen his 
cap away one day and they hadn’t seen their 
way as yet to buy him another, so they tied anything 
that came handy about his head, and to-day it hap¬ 
pened to be a piece of sacking! 

“Why had Kathleen invited the young lady?” 
thought poor Peg uneasily. “It was really too bad 
of her!” 

They reached the end of Grafton Street, finding 
themselves in front of the great gray main build¬ 
ing of Trinity College. In front of them was a 
whirling mass of people, motors and motor-lorries, 
outside cars and a little of everything all mixed up 
together, and beyond the solid gloomy magnificence 
of the Bank of Ireland, with red-coated soldier sen¬ 
tries keeping guard. 

They kept on toward the quay. It was not easy 
to talk, there was so much noise and such a crowd. 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 51 

It was splendid to be in the midst of it all, Christine 
thought. This was the life of the city, the heart of 
it, and what she was about to do would also be a 
part of it! 

Wisp was not happy as she walked with Chris¬ 
tine toward the quay. It would not last. It was 
only a passing shadow. Was she not going to have 
a dream come true, a sail on a barge up the Liffey? 
She could forget the shadow soon, but it seemed to 
walk beside her all the way to the quay. Peg was 
uncomfortable because of Christine, but Wisp was 
suffering. Why, oh why had she spent the twopence 
she had earned Saturday for a bit of red cheese 
cloth with which to make a new cushion for her 
pillow? She should instead have gone to the Iveagh 
market Saturday night and bought two buttons for 
her jacket. How it flew about her in the wind! a 
Her shoes! She had been so glad of the thick piece 
of gray twine Foggy had brought her from the 
butcher shop. It had done good service, had kept 
her shoes tightly together after the last button had 
gone. She glanced at Christine’s neatly shod feet 
and she swallowed a lump in her throat, and she 
clenched her hands in the pockets of her jacket: 
small, hard, red hands, clean as cold water 
and floor-scrubbing soap could make them! Wisp 
saw suddenly and sharply a great difference between 
herself and Christine, and because she was so young 
she could not see that it really and truly did not 
matter very much. 




52 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

They crossed the street, reaching the other side 
in safety, and then Christine turned to Wisp speak¬ 
ing happily. “Isn’t it going to be fun? I’ve never 
been on a barge and I think it was so dear of you to 
ask me!” 

Wisp cheered up suddenly. They were off, a 
whole party of them, on a holiday; adventure and 
excitement lay before them! 

Tin gave one of his sudden shrieks, pointing to a 
window full of cakes. “Good cakies !” he exclaimed. 
That was an idea! They were right in front of 
Bewley’s Cake Shop. Christine opened her purse 
and looked inside. There she saw a shilling and a 
sixpence, two pennies, a safety pin, some stamps and 
a small sample of blue chintz. 

“I’ll buy some goodies and we’ll eat them on the 
barge. Don’t you want to come in and choose what 
you would like?” she asked them, but they would 
not follow her, so she went inside alone. She chose 
buns, nice, brown shiny ones, thinking them better 
than the war cake which had no icing. She came out 
with a big bag full. Tin stretched out his plump 
hands and gave an appealing squeal so she handed 
him a nice spicy one, the others preferring to wait 
until they reached the barge, though they looked 
with interest at Tin as he devoured his. 

They turned to their left as they reached the river 
and had to walk a little way down to where the barge 
lay close to shore, the smoke from its funnel giving 
warning of a speedy departure. A round-faced boy 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 53 

was waiting for them on the bank. It was Wisp’s 
friend, Foggy Moyne, the small boy that had called 
out to the horse “Jumbles” in front of 50 Fitzwil- 
liam Square. His eyes grew rounder than ever when 
he saw Christine. He had seen some one in blue 
serge that looked like her that very morning! 

Wisp gave the introduction. “It’s Miss Christine. 
This is me friend Foggy.” Foggy took off his cap 
and displayed a head of short dark curls. He smiled 
and the smile made deep dimples in his round red 
cheeks. “Good-day, miss, and welcome to ye.” He 
picked up Tin, setting him on his shoulder. “Not 
a word out of ye now or maybe we won’t be let to 
go at all at all,” he admonished the youngest of the 
party who understood what he said and was as 
quiet as a mouse when they went up the slippery, 
muddy gangplank on to the old brown barge. 

“Ye’re to come on to the far end. There’s a bit 
o’ canvas nailed over a corner and ye must all sit 
there quiet like till we’re well along. Nobody but 
old Tuffy knows we’re goin’. He ain’t got all the 
say and if we’re noisy he maybe’d get into some 
trouble.” Foggy spoke seriously but the next minute 
grinned from ear to ear, looking from one to the 
other of them and giving Tin’s head a soft pat. He 
had often been on the barge and had told Wisp and 
Peg about it, but it was a real holiday, having them 
come also. 

It was rather uncertain walking. The barge was 
slimy and there were papers scattered about. Be- 








54 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

fore they reached the canvas there was a slow move- 
nent under their feet. They had started on their way! 

“Keep nice and quiet till we come out from under 
the first bridge,” warned Foggy. “When once we’re 
fairly off they’ll not mind us!” The girls and Tin 
sat on a clean piece of sacking under the canvas and 
Foggy and Dawson on an old box. 

Straight under O’Connell Bridge they glided and 
then on slowly up the river, leaving the city behind 
them though all along each side of them were black 
wharfs, dingy shops, boats at anchor near shore, not 
fine pleasure crafts, just battered dories or barges. 
There were flashes of brilliant blue in the sky. It 
was one of the almost summer days that come some¬ 
times to Ireland in December. 

For a few minutes Christine felt ill at ease, think¬ 
ing that the others would have enjoyed it all the 
better if she had not come with them. Tin sud¬ 
denly crawled across the others and settled himself 
comfortably on her lap. “Ain’t ye bold then, Tin? 
The young lady don’t want ye!” reproached Peg. 

Christine put her arm around Tin and smiled 
across at Peg. “Yes, I do want him. I think he’s 
dear,” she said. She gave the bag of buns to Foggy. 
“We found these at Bewley’s on the way here. 
Don’t you want to pass them around?” she sug¬ 
gested. 

The ice was broken from then on and they were 
soon talking busily, enjoying the brown spicy buns 
and the sun-filled air. On one side of them was the 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 55 

dingy outline of narrow old streets leading down 
to the quays and on the other the dense blur of a 
wood. 

“Over yonder’s the park. The Zoo is in it,” piped 
up Dawson unexpectedly. Christine nodded. 

“We’ve been there, and when the cousins come 

(I’m expecting cousins all the way from India) 

we’re going to take an outside car and drive all 
through Phoenix Park,” she said. 

“Sometime I’m goin’ to the Faery Glen at mid¬ 
night, all alone!” Wisp stood up as she spoke and 
going over to a coil of ropes sat down on them, facing 
the others, and looking beyond them to the dark 

etching of trees against the sky. In the far quiet 

corner where they sat, the barge men did not notice 
them except to call a good-natured word now and 
then. 

Foggy took a large bite from a bun and then 
smiled across at Christine. 

“Maybe this year we’ll get to Kilmaslogue,” Wisp 
said, clasping her hands about her knees. 

“Oh, maybe,” sighed Peg. “I’m tired o’ wantin’ 
to go and never gettin’ there.” 

The barge was to go some way up the river to 
take on some merchandise which had been side¬ 
tracked and so they found themselves very shortly 
gliding along with green gray meadows stretching 
each side of them, real country all about them. They 
were in reality only a little way from the city, but 
they might have been a thousand miles away. 




J6 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Ain’t it grand?’’ sighed Wisp, and the others 
except Christine and Tin answered, “Ain’t it!” 

Very soon a gray little village came to view, very 
dismal and cluttered. 

“It do be Chapelizoid,” said Foggy, and suddenly 
Christine exclaimed, “I know; why, that’s it. That’s 
the village where Tristram and Isolde were.” She 
looked across at the dingy little place. “Isn’t it 
strange,” she breathed—“Tristram and Isolde— 
there!” 

Wisp leaned toward her eagerly. “What is it, 
tell me please?” she asked her. 

“Sometime I will if you like, but now wouldn’t 
you tell me a story?” she answered. 

“Ah, Kathleen, do,” begged the others. Wisp 
shook her head. 

The barge had stopped and there was the heavy 
noise of dragging and pulling and shouting at the 
far end of the barge. 

“I said I’d tell no more stories till ye had better 
marks at school,” she said severely. 

“She means her own school,” explained Foggy. 
“She has a class at Jeffers Court, miss. She do give 
the children lessons.” 

Wisp colored modestly as Christine looked at her. 
“ ’Tain’t much, miss. I git on well at the regular 
school, and I helps the others a bit what don’t like 
schoolin’ so much. I’ll be after leavin’ school alto¬ 
gether in the spring, for I’m to sell flowers then for 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 57 

me livin’,” she answered, and as she spoke a shadow 
touched her face. 

She did not tell a story, but on the way back as 
they went slowly by the gray green meadows, as the 
water grew dark from the deepening twilight and 
the sun faded, she told them some of her thoughts, 
and because a gift had been given her, perhaps— 
who knows?—by the very fairies that she loved, they 
listened to her, all of them, drawing near. 

“I ain’t goin’ to tell a story now. It’s too grand 
just to be a sailin’ along, quiet like this way, but I 
do feeKthe fairies close to-day. Up there beyond 
the village and here where the water’s so deep and 
dark and where the fields are so sort o’ listenin’ and 
dim and odd like—I know them fairies is near. Why 
they don’t have to be just in woods or hills—Kilmas- 
logue as we was a speaking of is a fairy hill, miss,” 
she turned to Christine as she spoke. Fairies is in 
the water, too—all along in the sedge, and way down 
deep in the sea. I likes to fancy ’em a swimmin’ up 
to the city. I think they come swimmin’ late at night 
and then they shake the water off their silver wings 
and fly.” 

“Where?” piped Dawson excitedly. 

“Everywhere—Jeffers Court and wherever there’s 
children. Saint Michael, he dropped ’em down from 
heaven and there’s as many o’ ’em in the ocean and 
the lakes as there be in the woods and fields. They’re 
in ponds, too, and fountains.” She sat looking 





58 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

dreamily off at the fast approaching dusky city, as 
she answered him. 

Christine shook herself and stood up very stiffly 
when they anchored one side of O’Connell Bridge. 
It had been like a dream. She said good-by to the 
others gratefully, but a little hurriedly. It was later 
than she had expected and she jumped into a tram 
and out again at the street near their rooms. What 
would Miss Peck say! She found the governess and 
Beryl at the window looking out when she came in. 

“Wherever have you been!” exclaimed Miss Peck 
a little sharply. 

Christine was just about to say, “On a barge up 
the river,” when Beryl began to speak excitedly. 

“Oh, I suppose you’ve been shopping and having 
tea all by yourself as you so like to do. You missed 
Mrs. Witheringhaugh’s visit. She’s a friend of 
Uncle James and she’s going to invite us to her 
home to see her niece in the holidays!” 



V.—“Over There is India” 

The cook arrived at 50 Fitzwilliam Square one 
morning and they went over to stay that same after¬ 
noon. Life was suddenly delightful and the girls 
were in high spirits. Even Miss Peck was quite 
content as they sat by the fire in the study, after a 
well cooked meal in the stiff, handsome, immaculate 
dining room. There might be storms ahead, at any 
rate grave responsibilities, but there in the quiet 
firelight that‘first evening in the old house, all was 
for the moment harmonious. 

Beryl sat on a low stool close to the fire, her 
elbows on her knees and her face buried in her 
hands. Christine was curled up on the old green 
velvet covered sofa near her. 

“We ought to have a cat,” Christine remarked 
59 





60 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

unexpectedly, and Miss Peck said, “Oh, dear, must 
we? Well, I daresay there are plenty about here,” 
and went on counting stitches. “Knit two, purl two,” 
she murmured to herself. 

Beryl did not think Christine’s remark worthy of 
an answer. She was deep in thought. They would 
all be here in four days. There would be five of 
them in the house, five cousins, all strangers to each 
other, and on Christmas Eve Keith was coming. He 
and Victoria were twins. They had always known 
that about them. They had had fairly recent photo¬ 
graphs of the others, but there was only an odd, 
stubby little one of Keith when he was four. He 
was at Eton now. She supposed that he was different 
from the boys she knew at home. 

“Oh, I’m so tired of wondering what they’re like,” 
she burst out suddenly. 

“I am too, and I’m tired of waiting. The next 
four days will be simply endless. I’ll go out and 
look for a cat the first thing to-morrow. That will 
be something to do until they come,” answered Chris¬ 
tine. 

“You’re such a child, Christine. You seem to 
grow younger instead of older all the time.” 

Beryl 1 looked meditatively at Christine as she 
spoke and then they burst out laughing in spite of 
themselves. They were in the state of mind when 
laughing came easily. “You talk like a grandmother 
yourself, Berry. What is this sudden idea of being 
so grown up? I’m sure I’m in no hurry. Goodness, 


Jrisp—A Girl of Dublin 61 

let’s enjoy ourselves and not worry about it!” 
Christine threw a pillow at Beryl as she spoke and 
that young person returned in kind. 

“You might both be five for the moment,” com¬ 
mented Miss Peck. She sighed softly, but they did 
not hear her. She felt herself as though she had 
never been really young and she heartily echoed 
Christine’s words in her own mind. Let them enjoy 
themselves and not worry about growing up! 

“I suppose we’ll all seem strange to each other. 
Don’t you think they’ll be ever so different from 
us? They’ve lived for years in India and they’re 
very English, too. They won’t know anything about 
the things we care about.” 

“Oh, well, it will be fun to tell them things and 
hear them talk. We must plan something splendid 
for Christmas Eve. I know what I’d like to do,” 
said Christine. 

“What?” asked Beryl. 

“All of us go from house to house singing carols; 
it would be like the old Irish days—they do it still, 
but I like to think of the very long ago days when 
they used to sing them,” said Christine, thinking of 
Wisp and the barge. 

“No, I don’t think that would be the thing. We 
don’t know if they can sing. It’s the night that 
Keith is coming from school, don’t you remember?” 

Christine was silent. She was thinking of “the 
others,” as she called them—Wisp and Peg and 
Foggy and even Tin and Dawson. She was think- 





6 2 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ing of the afternoon on the Liffey—the smoke, the 
sun, and the enchantment. What if she should say 
suddenly to Miss Peck and Beryl, “I went up the 
river on a barge with Cuff Street children the other 
afternoon. It was very muddy and slippery and 
smoky, but we had a perfectly delightful time!” 
She smiled to herself, but she did not tell them, and 
at the governess’s next words she forgot for the 
moment all about them. 

“Your Uncle James is giving you a box at the 
pantomime Christmas Eve.” 

Beryl sat upright full of interest. “That’s so, the 
pantomime begins next week. We’ve never seen one, 
but I guess it must be like comic opera, isn’t it, 
Pecky?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” the governess replied. “We have 
very little opportunity for musical comedy in the 
country and I seldom went to Birmingham, the 
nearest town to us. Let me see, the last musical 
comedy I saw was ‘The Cingalee’ and that must 
have been a dozen years ago. I’ve not been to a 
pantomime for a long time, either. I shall enjoy it 1” 

Christine sprang up suddenly and putting her arms 
around Miss Peck, kissed her. “You’re such a dear, 
Pecky,” she exclaimed, then she added, looking 
across at Beryl, “I don’t believe the pantomimes 
they have over here are really like comic operas. I 
hope not. I think they are ever so much more 
charming and fairy-like. What a jolly thing it will 
be, all of us at a box party at the pantomime!” 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 63 

They talked it over that night in bed, for they 
were far too excited to go to sleep at once. The 
room looked very cosy in spite of its size. There was 
a coal fire, the firearms and andirons were polished 
until they fairly sparkled. In front of the fire was a 
black bear rug that they had found in the attic and 
that Lizzie, the housemaid, had brushed and beaten 
until it looked like new. Their curtains were roses 
on a dull blue background, instead of all rose like 
those in Victoria’s and Joan’s room. It was all 
new and interesting and pleasant. 

“I’ll tell you one thing, Christine, we need some 
new clothes.” Beryl spoke emphatically, sitting up 
in bed and rebraiding a plait of her hair which had 
come undone. “Our suits are new and the blue 
serges, but the white dresses are so uninteresting. 
We must each have a new evening dress.” 

“Evening dress,” repeated Christine with a giggle. 
“Will you please tell me where we would wear 
them?” 

“Don’t be stupid! You don’t know all we may do 
this winter. Mrs. Witheringhaugh is going to ask us 
there, and Uncle James wrote that he was going to 
‘Acquaint some of his friends of our residence in 
Fitzwilliam Square.’ Isn’t he quaint?” Beryl laughed 
as she spoke and so did Christine. They had met 
their Uncle James in London and thought him a sol¬ 
emn stiff sort of person. “It’s good of him to give 
us the box party for the pantomime, but I do hope 
he won’t come over himself to join us. Uncle James 






64 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

at the pantomime! How funny!” They both 
laughed at this. Beryl took her gold wrist watch 
from under the pillow and looked at it. 

“It’s after twelve and as we’ve simply heaps of 
things to do to-morrow we ought to go to sleep. I’ll 
speak to Pecky about our dresses to-morrow. It’s 
war time and no one needs very much, but we 
should each of us have a lovely dress for evening.” 

Christine smiled to herself as she answered sleep¬ 
ily, “All right.” 

She knew Beryl so well and was sure that Miss 
Pack’s mention of the pantomime party had set her 
sister off to planning dresses for them each to wear. 
“Keith comes that night and she wants to make a 
good impression. She’s always so wanted to see 
him,” she thought as she drifted off into the land of 
dreams. 

The next few days whirled by. There was so 
much to do, last touches to the rooms, consultations 
with the cook about dinner the night of the arrival 
and many other items. “It doesn’t make a bit of 
difference what we want for dinner Monday night. 
You know very well that Mrs. Mink plans the meals 
and will have just what she chooses. There’s no use 
in telling the cook,” remonstrated Christine. 

“Well, I haven’t time to go into all that now with 
Mrs. Mink. There are too many other things to 
think about, but I.mean to have a talk with her very 
soon,” Beryl had answered importantly and mys¬ 
teriously. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 65 

Early in the afternoon of the day the cousins were 
expected the two girls went down into the kitchen. 
“Cook,” as she was called by Mrs. Mink, was rest¬ 
ing in her room before starting to prepare the meal 
for the travelers. When Beryl had suggested to the 
housekeeper that they have quite a gala meal she had 
vetoed it at once. “Nonsense, Miss Beryl! We’ll 
have a plain dinner of soup, mutton and a good milk 
pudding. Them as has come all the way from India 
and then has to travel the Irish Sea on top of it ain’t 
going to be too anxious about their victuals. We’ll 
leave the trifle and tarts till the holidays.” Mrs. 
Mink after this speech had gone calmly on her way, 
waddling about, peering here and there and finding 
almost everywhere something not altogether to her 
liking. 

“Cross old Mink has gone herself to scold the 
butcher about something. She told Miss Peck she 
was going to shop a little at Pirn’s so she won’t be 
snooping around for a while. Isn’t it nice down 
here! I like the red brick floor, don’t you? I can’t 
believe they’re coming to-night, Christine, can you ?” 

“No, it seems so romantic and like something in 
a story book,” Christine answered. Beryl had gone 
on into the pantry and came back with a very deter¬ 
mined look in her eyes. “It’s just as I thought. Mrs. 
Mink has locked up all the provisions and it isn’t 
fair. It’s our house and our food. I hate her old 
bunch of keys. Oh, I’m going to have it out with 
Mrs. Mink, my dear child; just as soon as I haven’t 







66 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

quite so much on my mind, I’m going to have a seri¬ 
ous talk with her about a good many things,” Beryl 
spoke importantly. 

There was something in the determined tilt of her 
chin which Christine knew well. “I’ll be interested 
to see who wins out,” she chuckled. She had on 
her hat and jacket and as Beryl started to go on 
slowly up the stairs, baffled in her wish to make some¬ 
thing with which to welcome the travelers, she went 
on to the basement door. 

She was back again in a half-hour with a few flow¬ 
ers done up in brown paper. A pink rose for the lit¬ 
tle white china vase on Victoria’s and Joan’s dress¬ 
ing tables and a few hardy marigolds for the little 
brown mug on Patrick’s table. She peeped into the 
study as she was on her way upstairs and saw Miss 
Peck sitting by the big book-strewn table, a letter in 
her hand. She looked up as Christine came in. “I’ve 
a few flowers for the dressing tables. We’ll start 
for Kingstown in less than an hour. I can’t realize 
it.” 

“If I were you I would rest a little before we go,” 
Miss Peck answered, glancing at Christine’s excited 
face. 

“I’m going to fix the flowers and then perhaps I 
will.” Christine shut the door as she spoke and the 
governess turned again to her letter with a sigh. 
Would she be able to do all that lay before her? It 
was not that she dreaded the teaching. She had been 
graduated from Cheltenham and she had had some 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 67 

years’ experience in a good girl’s school near her 
home. The children would all go to Alexandria 
College in Dublin for special studies. She reread 
a page of the letter that had come to her from India 
that morning, a letter from the mother of the chil¬ 
dren who were coming from India. 

“Letting them go is like losing the sunshine for 
a while. They are all so different, but you will see 
that for yourself. Life in India, and especially the 
life up here in the hills, has made them different from 
other English children. I hope that you will try to 
understand them and that they will not be a trouble 
to you. I ask you above all to do your best for 
Keith. He has been away from me so much, and I 
will tell you, as I am so confidentially telling you 
other things, it is of Keith that I think the most—it 
is for him that I pray the most. He is so proud and 
strong and cold—above all he is so proud. I have 
not seen him for three years. He has had to be 
away from me at school; always he has been in 
England when I wanted him most. Win his con¬ 
fidence if you can.” The letter went on to other 
matters. Miss Peck laid it in her lap and sat pon¬ 
dering. How could she win the confidence of a boy 
who was proud and strong and cold; she, a quiet, 
plain ordinary governess? She wanted to do so 
much, but her heart failed her. 

They had only a twenty minutes’ ride in the train 
to Kingstown, the port of Dublin. It had cleared 
and there was no mist at all, not even a haze over 







68 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Howth Head. The Bailey lighthouse shone bravely 
gold against a primrose sky. The train ran close 
to the sea and in spite of the fast gathering twilight 
the world outside seemed rose and gold and red. 
There had been a brilliant sunset, and as they came 
into Kingstown the waves dashed fiercely against 
the rocks. It was high tide and there was a sharp 
wind. 

The boat was on time and although it seemed 
longer it was really only a very little while before 
she hove in sight. The light had faded and she 
looked very gray against the green sea and the pale 
sky. She was dark and there was something solemn 
about her. When she turned the corner by the pier 
dancing lights began to flicker. She suddenly be¬ 
came radiant and thankful. She had stolen across 
the three hours from Holyhead in North Wales, 
had come warily and in darkness for fear of sub¬ 
marines. 

Miss Peck and the girls stood as near the gang¬ 
plank as they could. The passengers began to come 
down. There was shouting back and forth and gen¬ 
eral bustle and confusion. “Why don’t they come? 
They must be on the boat, for Uncle James wired 
that they had started.” Christine peered through the 
dusk that had so suddenly fallen. Beryl was silent. 
She was so excited that her knees were shaking, but 
she would not have had Miss Peck or Christine 
know it for the world. 

“There they are! I’m sure that is they. See, 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 69 

Beryl—the tall girl and the others.” Christine was 
right. They were the last ones to come down the 
gangplank. Victoria came first, the other two walk¬ 
ing side by side just behind her. The next moment 
they were all greeting each other. They stood a 
little to one side away from the crowd and they had 
only a moment all of them together before Miss 
Peck went with Victoria to see about their baggage. 
Beryl and Christine had both had a very distinct im¬ 
pression of the three just in that little time. Joan 
was short and plump and had very curly hair and 
seemed to do all the talking for the three. 

“It was so rough that we couldn’t walk about at 
all coming over from Holyhead. No one was ill, 
though I don’t think Blighty felt very well,” she 
volunteered. 

Patrick was pale and had a glint of light hair un¬ 
der his cap. He looked cold in spite of his heavy 
reefer jacket, but he smiled cheerfully. He held his 
coat close together at his throat and almost at once, 
after she had told about their journey, Joan said, 
“Do give Blighty a little air, Paddy, he will 
smother.” She leaned forward as she spoke. Pat¬ 
rick turned down a corner of his coat and a wizened 
brown face peered out, two bright eyes blinking up 
at them. 

“What is it! Can it be a monkey?” exclaimed 
Miss Peck bending down to gaze at it. Beryl and 
Christine gazed also, and Christine touched its fore¬ 
head with her gloved hand. 









70 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“A monkey! Oh, what a darling,” she said. 

Miss Peck seemed almost too amazed to speak. 
“You mean that you brought him all the way from 
India with you?” she asked. “Yes,” Patrick an¬ 
swered her. “We’ve had to be very careful of him 
since we’ve reached England. You see he’s never 
been away from India before and neither have I.” 
There was just a suspicion of a quiver about his chin 
as he spoke and in spite of being nearsighted Miss 
Peck saw it. 

“What a fuss about a monkey!” It was Victoria 
who spoke and except for greeting them all it was 
the first thing she had said. Miss Peck spoke to 
her then about the baggage and they went off to¬ 
gether. 

“Vic didn’t mean what she said about Blighty,” 
said Patrick, looking up at the girls. “She thinks the 
world of him, doesn’t she, Joan?” 

Joan nodded. 

“Yes, it’s just her way. When she’s feeling things 
she’s always snappy. She’s devoted to Blighty.” 
She smiled at Christine and the two girls warmed 
to her at once. 

“He is a dear. I’m so glad you brought him,” 
Beryl said to her cordially and Christine added, “So 
am I.” 

Miss Peck and Victoria came up to them then. 

“The luggage is in the .carriage so we are all 
ready,” announced the governess. 

They stood there for just a moment longer. The 


7i 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

sea and sky were gray-blue and the stars were blue 
diamonds. Victoria looked off toward the way they 
had come. 

“England is over there isn’t it—and India—is way 
beyond ?” Her eyes were shaded by her dark beaver 
hat. She wore a dark cloak like Joan’s. Her hair 
was brown, darker than Beryl’s, and it fell each side 
of her face, down to her waist. For a moment she 
seemed to forget them all as she looked off across 
the shimmering water. “Over there somewhere is 
India,” she repeated. 















VI.— Patrick and Blighty Meet Foggy 


“I’m going to put some more coal on the fire. 
Let’s go over and sit on the rug and talk a while.” 
Christine drew their blue window curtains closer to¬ 
gether as she spoke. Then she glanced across at 
Beryl who was brushing her hair in front of her 
dressing table. 

“Put on more paper and kindling first or it will 
smoke,” commanded Beryl brushing her hair with, 
unusual vigor. Christine smiled as she went over to 
the fireplace. It was so like Beryl to tell her to do 
what she would have done anyway. She built up 
the fire and then sat down on the fur rug in front of 
it. Beryl came over, brush in hand, and sat down be¬ 
side her sister. There was silence between them for 
a little while, each waiting for the other to begin. 
Christine wanted Beryl to talk about the cousins, 
longed to know just what she thought about them all, 
especially Victoria, but she knew her sister well 
enough to wait until she was ready to broach the 
subject. 

The door leading to the dressing room was closed, 
as was also the one at the other end leading into the 
cousins’ room. There was no excited going-to-bed- 
chatter that first night. Victoria had asked to go up 

72 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 73 

to their room directly after supper and had taken 
Joan with her. Christine had taken Patrick out to 
the storeroom off the lower hall leading to the gar¬ 
den, so that he could pick out a basket for Blighty. 
They found just the right one for him and his little 
red velvet cushion fitted it nicely. Christine had 
carried the cushion upstairs, Patrick following 
with Blighty, who had clutched him with firm, 
quiet desperation ever since they had arrived. 
Patrick had attempted to have him sit on a chair 
by his side during dinner, but to no avail. He 
sprang upon his young master with one bound and 
stayed clinging close to him, his head buried inside 
Patrick’s jacket during the entire meal. 

“He behaved much better on the journey and 
made friends with nearly everyone on the boat, didn’t 
he, Paddy?” Joan had said and her brother had 
answered, looking from Miss Peck 'to his cousins, 
“Yes, it’s very strange. He has never been this way 
before. It’s the house perhaps, it’s so big and dark 
and cold.” He spoke as though the governess and 
his cousins were in some way to blame for this. Pat¬ 
rick was tired and distressed about the monkey. 

“It’s a very nice house of course,” he went on po¬ 
litely, helping himself to vegetable-marrow. 

“A good night’s rest will set him up,” Joan had 
said cheerily. It was she who kept their side of the 
conversation going throughout the meal. Victoria 
sat next Miss Peck and only spoke when she was di¬ 
rectly spoken to. She was very pale and her dark 








74 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

eyes looked very heavy under her straight dark 
brows. She refused the mutton and ate so little that 
Miss Peck was disturbed. 

“I hope soon that you will be strong and hearty, 
my dear Victoria. Can you think of something spe¬ 
cial that you would care for to-night? A hot milk 
shake before you go to bed perhaps ?” Miss Peck had 
asked kindly and Victoria had answered, “Nothing, 
thank you, Miss Peck.” In short, dinner had not 
been a success and they were all glad when it was 
over. 

“Do you think they liked the room? Joan seemed 
to, but I guess it’s hard to tell about Victoria—she’s 
quiet, but hasn’t she a lovely face?” Christine was 
too interested to wait longer for Beryl’s verdict and 
could not resist opening the subject. Still Beryl did 
not speak. “Do say something, Beryl,” she pleaded. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Beryl answered 
slowly. “They are so different. Of course, I knew 
they would be.” She lapsed into a moment’s silence, 
then she went on speaking eagerly. “They’re inter¬ 
esting and Patrick is a darling. Victoria, well—you 
simply can’t make her out, she’s mysterious.” 

“Joan is a perfect dear, don’t you think so?” 
Christine gave the fire a poke with the twisted iron 
poker as she spoke. “Yes, I think she’s good fun, 
or will be, but even she is queer.” Beryl had a 
puzzled loolc in her eyes as she spoke. “She’s aw¬ 
fully young for her age I should say; she just talked 
about the monkey all the time and about their ayah. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 75 

I should think even Patrick would be old enough not 
to have a nurse.” 

There was a sort of cough behind them and they 
both looked around with a start. Joan stood near 
them. They had left the door into the hall slightly 
ajar and she had come in that way. “Your door was 
open so I came in without knocking because I thought 
you were asleep. I heard what you said just now,” 
she went on smiling at Beryl. “I didn’t mean to, but 
I couldn’t help it. I’ve been down the hall to see 
Paddy and I came back this way because—well—be¬ 
cause I thought if you were awake perhaps I’d stay 
a few minutes.” There was just the faintest trem¬ 
ble in her voice as she said the last words. 

Christine moved over to one side and Beryl patted 
the rug invitingly, saying, “Come on over and we’ll 
all three get acquainted. I’m sorry you heard what 
I said, but it wasn’t anything much, was it!” Joan 
sat down between her two cousins and held out her 
hands toward the fire. 

“No, just about our having an ayah. She’s been 
with us always, ever since Vic was a baby. We love 
her very much. She wanted to come with us, but 
some friends of mummy’s were coming over on the 
ship and they promised to take great care of us. 
Mummy needed our ayah more than we did,” Joan 
swallowed a big lump in her throat as she spoke. 
“I’ve been down the hall to Paddy’s room but he’s 
sound asleep with Blighty’s head on his shoulder,” 
she went on. 








76 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Then he didn’t stay in the basket. We were 
afraid he wouldn’t!” exclaimed Christine. 

“Is Victoria asleep?” asked Beryl. 

Joan shook her head. “I don’t know. She may 
be pretending. It’s hard to tell. She’s very, very 
homesick and unhappy, I’m afraid.” Joan looked 
apologetically at the other two as she spoke. “You 
see she didn’t want to come. She begged and begged 
mother to let her stay, but it was no use.” 

“Poor Victoria!” put in Christine. 

“It was just as hard for Joan and Patrick to leave 
their mother. I think you’re splendid, Joan, for you 
don’t think of how you’re feeling yourself at all.” 
Beryl smiled warmly at Joan as she spoke and jump¬ 
ing up ran over to the bed and brought back their 
blue and white downy. “Wrap this around you, 
that’s it. I know you’re cold. We’re so glad you 
came in, aren’t we, Christine?” 

Christine nodded. “Yes, but I want to know so 
much all at once. I’m bursting with questions. Oh, 
there are dozens of things I want to know about: 
India, and Victoria, and the monkey, and your 
mother, and the ayah, and everything you did on the 
voyage, and about Keith and—all sorts of things.” 

They all laughed at the wild jumble that Christine 
wanted to know about and Joan said, “There are a 
good many things I want to ask about: Miss Peck, 
and the house, and what Ireland is like, and about all 
you do in America—oh, dozens of things.” She 
laughed happily as she spoke and they all felt that 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 77 

the ice was broken and for Joan the worst of the 
strangeness was over. 

“My dear, there is nothing at all exciting about 
Pecky. She’s a dear, but as meek as an angel and 
not a bit strict—old-fashioned though. Ireland? 
Well, we really don’t know it very well ourselves. 
We’ve lived in rooms and haven’t been here very 
long and it’s rained a great deal,” answered Beryl. 

Christine thought of Wisp and the barge and was 
silent. 

“There is one person, though, that you will really 
love. That is our dear, beloved housekeeper, Mrs. 
Mink, whom you didn’t see to-night because she is 
having tea in Glasnevin with her friend who is cousin 
to the man who keeps the cemetery lodge!” Beryl 
smiled maliciously as she spoke. 

“Mrs. Mink, what an odd name,” said Joan. 

“She is odd, my dear. That’s a mild word. She’s 
a perfect curio and the most utterly disagreeable per¬ 
son I’ve ever met. She keeps everything under lock 
and key and treats me as though I were eight years 
old.” Beryl spoke half in fun, but there was a 
sparkle in her eyes which was partly anger. “You 
wait and see, my new cousin Joan! I’ll get the best 
of little Mrs. Mink or know the reason why!” 

The others laughed and Joan crept nearer the fire, 
holding the comforter close about her. 

“You mustn’t mind Vic for she’ll be better soon. 
She’s very homesick now. She loves India and she 
says she can never be happy away from it.” Joan 






78 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

spoke seriously, tears in her brown eyes, and Beryl 
said briskly, 

“Nonsense, we’re all going to have splendid times 
here and it’s the best thing that could have happened 
to Victoria, coming away now.” Beryl used her 
most grown-up tone and Joan seemed impressed. 

“Don’t you see, Joan, we must learn to know Ire¬ 
land; we must find out all the wonderful things about 
it!” As she spoke, Christine thought of Wisp and 
the enchanting afternoon on the funny old river Lif- 
fey. How bravely the sun had shone through the 
clouds, gilding the dreary old barge. How wildly 
blue the sky had been, reflecting itself in the brown 
water. Wisp sitting in the shadow of the barge, her 
hands in her lap. Wisp telling of the fairies! 

“I’m planning all sorts of things for us to do,” 
said Beryl. “We might get up a club and call it the 
Cousins’ Club—Keith can be the honorary member.” 
Beryl waited for Joan to say something about her 
brother, but all she said was, 

“Goody! I think you’re ripping, Beryl, simply 
ripping, and I know we’ll all have wonderful times 
if only Vic will cheer up and Paddy keeps well!” 

By this time the three felt as though they had al¬ 
ways known each other and they chatted sociably 
for a long time. Joan told about picnics at dawn in 
the Himalayas and of moonlight horseback rides, 
and her cousins were so enthralled in all she said 
that they told her she must wait to hear all they had 
to tell her, until another time. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 79 

It was very late when Joan crept back to her room. 
Victoria lay with her beautiful brown hair loose on 
the pillow, one arm flung above her head. Her 
sister stood watching her for a moment. “Poor 
Vic,” she thought. “I’m afraid she won’t be able to 
stand it. She hated coming and she won’t try to 
make friends.” Joan crept in beside her sister and 
put both her arms about her. After a moment Vic¬ 
toria turned and, half asleep as she was, laid her head 
on Joan’s shoulder. “It’s so cold,” she whispered. 

“Yes, we don’t need the punkahs to-night, do we?” 
Joan whispered back. 

With their arms around each other the two girls 
fell asleep in the great rose-curtained bed. 

Foggy Moyne rattled along in his cart at a great 
pace early the next morning, drew up in front of a 
number of silent, cold looking houses on Fitzwil- 
liam Square, delivered his beef or mutton or what¬ 
ever the order might be and came driving up in a 
flurry to 50 Fitzwilliam Square. He did not shout 
out to Jumbles as was his usual habit before leaving 
him at the curbing, some such remark as, “Hold the 
fort while I’m away, Jumbles me dear,” or, “I’ll be 
back in the wink of an eyelish, me darlin’!” He 
opened the “Tradesman’s Entrance” door very care¬ 
fully and stole quietly up to the kitchen door, opened 
it and peered inside. Cook had just come downstairs 
and was sleepily beginning to light the kitchen fire. 
She eyed Foggy not unkindly. 







8o 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“She ain’t up yet, is she? I thought maybe I’d 
beat her to it this mornin’!” he said. Foggy’s curly 
head came into full view around the kitchen door as 
he spoke. Almost at the same moment Mrs. Mink’s 
small round face appeared in the opposite doorway. 
Foggy was too late! He threw the parcel on the 
table and was about to dash away when the house¬ 
keeper’s voice boomed out at him. 

“Young boy, just you wait a minute. You’ve left 
the wrong order twice in a week. I reported you yes¬ 
terday and I”—Mrs. Mink never finished her sen¬ 
tence. She left the door open behind her and some¬ 
thing had come into the kitchen while she was speak¬ 
ing, something brown and strange and wizened that 
hesitated for an instant and then with a swift spring 
flashed past her, circled Foggy and quicker than 
thought was out the half opened kitchen door. 

There was no doubt about Mrs. Mink’s being 
frightened. She could not speak for a moment and 
then she only ejaculated, “Oh, dear, what a turn 
I’ve had! What was it! oh, dear, I feel so shaken!” 
She sat down heavily on a kitchen chair, her apron at 
her face and as Cook told a friend later in the day, 
“She was fair scared to bits and it was a good sight 
to see her off her high horse for once!” 

It all happened in a twinkling and before Mrs. 
Mink had gotten her breath Foggy had run after 
the monkey. In and out and around about they had 
the chase; down the garden walk, across to the sum¬ 
mer house, then like a flash of brown, up the haw- 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 



thorn tree by the stone wall climbed Blighty. He 
held on to a branch with one long paw and looked 
down at his pursuer. As Foggy told Wisp that after¬ 
noon, “He fair winked at me, saucy like!” They 
gazed at each other, fat jolly-faced Foggy and funny 
frightened Blighty. 

“Ye needn’t mind me—shure I like ye and we’ll 
be friends if ye’ll come on down quiet like!” he per¬ 
suaded. Blighty answered with some gibberish that 
made him even more interesting to Foggy but some 
one was running as fast as his short legs would carry 
him down the path and Foggy turned to see who it 
was. He knew at once that it must be one of the chil¬ 
dren from India of whom Christine had told him 
the afternoon on the barge. 

“I thought I saw him up the tree,” gasped Pat¬ 
rick between breaths. “He’s so scared, last night 
he slept with his arm right around my neck. It was 
the cleaning thing in the hall that made him run 







82 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

through to the kitchen just now.” Patrick looked up 
at Blighty as he spoke. 

“I’ll just take a run up the tree after him if ye 
say the word,” suggested Foggy. “I’d have gone 
before but I thought he would run away down and 
off before I could get him agin.” He grinned at Pat¬ 
rick as he spoke and that young person grinned back, 
glad of the friendliness of Foggy’s tone. 

“There’s a woman in the kitchen who is fright¬ 
ened. She kept saying ‘Oh dearie me!’ I couldn’t 
stop to tell her he wouldn’t hurt her,” said Patrick. 

“Shure that’s the housekeeper and she be the divil 
in all—beggin’ yer pardon,” answered Foggy. 

“We came last night and I didn’t see her—we 
came all the way from India and we’re going to live 
in this house,” volunteered Patrick, still gazing up 
at the monkey. Blighty had come down a little way. 
Suddenly Patrick spoke to him in a strange language, 
just a few words. He started down, hesitated and 
stopped. Patrick looked over his shoulder at 
Foggy. “That’s Hindoostani and it’s all he under¬ 
stands,” he explained. 

“Well, holy saints, ain’t it queer!” exclaimed the 
butcher boy. 

Blighty was climbing carefully, swinging himself 
from branch to branch. He let Patrick pick him 
off the lowest one, and putting his arms about his 
young master’s neck, looked at Foggy as much as 
to say, “I’m safe now from all of you!” They 
walked slowly back through the garden, Patrick 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 83 

speaking a little anxiously. “He’s trembling all 
over; he’s scared and cold.” 

“Well, maybe we could fix him up some kind o’ 
outfit to keep him warm,” suggested Foggy, his kind 
heart warming to Patrick and his monkey. 

“That’s a good idea, and I’ll speak to the girls 
about it,” Patrick answered as they reached the 
kitchen steps. “Won’t you come inside?” he asked. 
“Bless you, no, I’m the butcher boy. I’ve got to git 
on me way,” answered Foggy cheerily. Patrick 
looked back at him as did also the monkey. 

“You’ll come again, won’t you? Blighty’ll be 
more friendly next time—it’s all very strange to us 
all,” he went on confidentially, as Foggy still lin¬ 
gered. 

“A bit odd to yez cornin’ so far maybe, but it’s 
a goodish place, is Dublin. Wait till ye try an out¬ 
side car on a good road. Wait till ye have a picnic 
up Powerscourt way,” Foggy nodded encouragingly, 
then hearing some one call, “Master Patrick, Mas¬ 
ter Patrick,” in anxious tones, ran around the corner 
of the house to where the faithful Jumbles waited 
patiently. 

Late that afternoon he whistled at the foot of the 
ladder on the top floor of Jeffers Court. There was 
a flutter of the blue curtain, then a shock of red-gold 
hair and Wisp’s face underneath it. 

“Is it back so early ye are?” she exclaimed and 
was down the ladder before he could answer her. 

“It ain’t so early and I’ve somewhat to tell ye. 






84 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

They’ve come, up there on the square, the children 
from India. I seen the boy this morning!” 

“Master Keith from school in England?” asked 
Wisp. 

“No, Master Patrick. I heard them a-callin’ of 
him. Pie’s got a monkey named Blighty and it run 
away down the garden and up a tree quick as fire. 
He’s queer like them monkeys up at the Zoo, but kind 
o’ different like, sort o’ human and Master Patrick 
he talk to him like he was a person.” 

They sat down on the top step, Wisp with her chin 
in her hands. It was cold there at the tip-top of Jef¬ 
fers Court. Foggy turned up the collar of his jacket 
and whistled between his teeth. 

“ ’Tain’t what ye could call extra‘comfortable up 
here to-day. Blighty was fair frozen and Master 
Patrick he looked a good bit like an icicle.” 

As he spoke Foggy leaned back against the dank 
side of the wall. It was jolly to be through with his 
work for the day and to talk things over with his 
girl friend. 

“Ain’t the wind queerish?” she said softly. “Some¬ 
times, nights, up there under the roof it do seem to 
tell me things.” She put her hand to her forehead 
as she spoke, brushing her bright hair away from 
her face. “Last night I says to it: ‘Mr. Wind, is it 
that I’ll be livin’ different some day with a real cot¬ 
tage o’ me own lookin’ off on a moor? Will I have 
shoes and hair-ribbons and nice dresses and books?’ ” 
She looked down again into the gloom before she 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 85 

went on, and then she said: “It kind o’ seemed as 
though old Mr. Wind answered, ‘Yes.’ ” 

“Master Patrick had a good bit to say about their 
cornin’ over all that way on the boat!” 

Foggy whistled expecting a torrent of remarks or 
eager questions, but none came. Wisp sat crouched 
over her folded hands. 

“ ’Tain’t no use, Foggy. I’m different. I love 
to hear about the Fitzwilliam Square children but I 
ain’t like ’em,” she said at last. 

u Ye bet ye ain’t. There ain’t one o’ ’em that 
can hold a candle to ye,” Foggy answered vigor¬ 
ously. 

“Ye think so just because you and I is chums, but 
I ain’t.” Wisp looked over her shoulder smiling a 
little as she spoke. 

“Ain’t ye taught us all here? What about the 
class? All I know about books and Aggers is what 
ye taught me. Ye think too little o’all ye do. We’d 
be fair good for nothing here without ye,” he an¬ 
swered, so eager to comfort her that he thumped 
the floor vigorously. 

“Yes, I’ve many things to be a lookin’ out for 
around here. It don’t do to be dreamin’ o’ things 
way off, it don’t indeed. Ye do be a good friend, 
Foggy. Maybe ye’ll be a great man some day. I’ll 
ask the stars for ye,” she said. 

The wind sobbed eerily, mingling with the harsh 
sounds below moaning along gusty corridors. 

Suddenly a voice came to them from the lower 






86 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

landing. The gray figure of Auntie Moneypenny 
was below. 

“What be ye a talkin’ of?” she called up. 

“We do be a speakin’ o’ the children from India, 
auntie, dear. Them as has come to live with a 
teacher lady in a big grand house. Foggy, he leaves 
meat there every day. It’s the children that’s come 
to the Square as I was tellin’ ye about,” Wisp an¬ 
swered her again. 

“Glory be! Ye’ll freeze to the stairs! Come on 
down the two o’ yez. I’ve a bit o’ fire and three her- 
rin’s and some cockles.” This from the voice at the 
foot of the stairs. 

“We’d like to, auntie, and it’s good ye are to ask 
us.” Wisp stood up and the two ran down the stairs 
to where the little old woman awaited them. 

“Foggy will tell ye about the monkey from India 
and Master Patrick,” began Wisp. 

“Shure, ye do be thinkin’ all the time of them 
children. Come now, we’ll put on the kettle and 
make ourselves happy.” Auntie Moneypenny laid 
her hand on Wisp’s shoulder as she spoke. “Ye have 
plenty to be a thinkin’ of right here amongst yer 
own,” she said to her. 

“That’s what I’ve been a tellin’ of her,” said 
Foggy. 



VII. —The Class in the Court 

Christine told Beryl that the first days after the 
cousins came were the funniest ones she ever knew. 
She often spoke of them in after years. Sometimes 
when she would burst out laughing over apparently 
nothing at all, people would say, “What is so 
funny?” and she would answer, “Mrs. Mink and the 
monkey!” 

She told Beryl it was all very funny as they walked 
about the garden together a few days after the ar¬ 
rival. 

“I really don’t see what’s so amusing about it, 
Christine. I’m awfully glad, of course, that Mrs. 
Mink is afraid of Blighty—that is funny, of course, 
and it’s good to see her in awe of something, but it 








88 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

certainly isn’t pleasant to have Victoria going about 
looking like a tragic ghost.” Beryl looked as puz¬ 
zled as she had done the night they had arrived 
and for a few minutes the two walked along in 
silence. 

Then Christine said comfortingly, “I think she’s 
a little better. I really do, for she quite cheered up 
about the pantomime party. She’s ever and ever so 
fond of Keith, Joan says, and she’s counting the days 
until he comes—let’s see, Christmas Eve will be com¬ 
ing along in three days!” 

“Yes, and we’ll all be homesick together then. AK 
ter all, we’re away from home too, and none of 
them seem to realize it; even Joan forgets that 
America is our home, not over here! Do you re¬ 
member last year, Christine, Rita’s party at the coun¬ 
try club and the fun we had sleighing home?” Beryl 
sighed as she spoke. The last few days had not been 
altogether easy and they had tried the patience of 
nearly all of the household at 50 Fitzwilliam Square. 
Mrs. Mink had been very angry about poor Blighty 
and had shown her temper in many ways. Miss Peck 
was worried about Victoria and afraid they would 
all take cold. There had been a delay about one of 
their trunks, and altogether it had not been an easy 
breaking in. 

On this particular day, however, the sun shone 
bravely and there was again that hint of spring about 
the garden. Christine left Beryl pottering about, 
picking out weeds and planning where she would 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 89 

plant things a little later. She was always happiest 
when she was planning. Christine went inside, and 
upstairs to the study. There was to be no thought of 
lessons until after the holidays and Keith’s depar¬ 
ture for school. Victoria was standing by the win¬ 
dow looking out into the garden. Blighty sat in the 
midst of the book-strewn table and as Christine came 
in he “talked,” as Patrick called his high squeaky 
gibberish. 

There were voices from the garden proclaiming 
the fact that Joan and Patrick had joined Beryl. 
Christine went over to the window and stood beside 
her cousin, looking down at the low hedges and wind¬ 
ing walks below. She thought at first of suggesting 
to Victoria that they both go down to the others in 
the garden. Then with one of her sudden impulses 
she said instead, speaking timidly, “Would you like 
to go for a walk, just the two of us together?” Vic¬ 
toria turned and looked at her, smiling slightly. 

“Yes, if you like,” she answered indifferently. 

They went out the front door without the others 
knowing that they had gone, and Christine turned in 
the direction of the green. It was a walk of several 
blocks and at first they did not speak at all. 

Then Christine said impulsively, “Oh, you just 
can’t know how glad I am that you’re really here, 
Victoria. I know you’re homesick now, but I’ve a 
feeling—” she hesitated as though trying to find the 
right words, “I’ve a feeling that we’re all of us go¬ 
ing to have a wonderful year.” She stopped sud- 






90 JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

denly. Why did she always speak so extravagantly? 
She glanced at her cousin who turned toward her and 
smiled again a little wanly. 

“I dare say we shall get used to it all, but it seems 
strange now,” answered Victoria. Christine assented 
eagerly. 

“I know, oh, really I do, Victoria. You see it was 
very strange to me at first and then suddenly”—she 
paused and before she knew it she was telling her 
cousin about the gray afternoon when she first met 
Wisp in the green. They came to the green as she 
was speaking and they went in and sat down on a 
bench. 

In spite of the sun it was too cold to sit there for 
more than a few minutes. They could hear the'voices 
of children playing near the pond. Afterward Chris¬ 
tine wondered how she had ever had the courage to 
tell Victoria so much. It was indeed, the very best 
thing she could have done for in spite of herself her 
cousin was interested. Christine learned later on 
that it was always best to come out with things with 
Victoria. Her cousin began to speak rapidly, 
eagerly. There was a curious accent to her other¬ 
wise very English voice, nothing definite, rather as 
though having always heard Hindoostani about her, 
some of its quaint charm had touched her. 

“I couldn’t say anything before, but I knew you 
would be the one who would understand—Miss 
Peck, oh, she is kind no doubt, but she does’not think 
a great deal. Beryl—” Victoria raised her hands 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 91 

with an odd gesture, letting them fall again into her 
lap. “Beryl is so strong and sure and noisy!” 

“Beryl is splendid,” put in Christine stoutly. 

Victoria nodded. “Yes that is a good word for 
her, but it is you I would make my friend.” She 
might have been a queen conferring a favor as she 
spoke and before Christine could answer her she 
went on. “Tell me more of your adventures, more 
about Wisp—what a funny little name!” she cried. 

It was easy to tell Victoria things. There was 
no doubt of that. She seemed to understand and 
she somehow by her interest made it all seem a fairy 
story. 

“Let me be with you in all that you do. I must 
not be bored, do you understand? I want to live and 
feel and know things—lessons and that old cold 
house—oh, I must have more than that. You and 
I, Christine, we shall have adventures.” 

It was all very interesting. Victoria choosing her 
for a friend! She laid her hand lightly on Chris¬ 
tine’s arm. 

“We wilLhave this little secret for ourselves—a 
quest for adventure, you and I. The others will 
think we are going on in an everyday stupid sort of 
way. They will not know that we are making stories 
out of Ireland. That will be splendid.” 

Christine jumped up delightedly. “It’s going to 
be the greatest fun. I’m so glad we’re friends, Vic¬ 
toria. Yoii ’11 love having Beryl for a friend when 
you really know her. Now you must meet’Wisp. She 





92 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

can tell you stories. She’s promised to tell me some 
of the things she makes up in her Fairy Cottage. 
Think of it, Victoria, she lives in a tenement, right 
up under the roof in a tiny little room and she calls 
it Fairy Cottage!” 

There was no doubt about Victoria’s being inter¬ 
ested. The reason was that it was all new to her. 
She had never known of anything like it before. She 
had lived way up in the far Himalayas and though 
she had read and dreamed she had never fancied 
anything as odd as this. A little poor girl who lived 
up under a roof, alone, and who called her home a 
fairy cottage! 

They walked on through the green where, be¬ 
cause of the brightness of the day a number of nurses 
aired their young charges. The ducks were chasing 
each other about wildly. Some of them came wad¬ 
dling out of the water and followed the girls, squeak¬ 
ing a request for bread. 

“Not to-day, old grandpa,” said Christine to one 
of the most persistent, and they walked on in the 
sunshine, Victoria still talking eagerly to her cousin. 

“I’ve wondered what it could be like here and 
I’ve thought about you and Beryl. It was always 
something for the future. I mean England. I was 
coming when I was eighteen. Mummy was com¬ 
ing, too. Then Patrick was ill and they said we must 
come now. What should I do if it weren’t for you, 
Christine? You will help me to be happy, will you 
not?” There was something very child-like in the 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 93 

way Victoria drew near to Christine, taking her arm 
and looking at her with her mournful dark eyes. 

“Oh, Victoria!” exclaimed Christine. “I’ll do 
anything to make it easier. I know how dreadfully 
hard it must have been for you to leave your father 
and mother and the life that you love, there in 
India.’’ 

Victoria touched Christine’s arm. “Hush,” she 
said. “I cannot talk about that—not now.” 

They walked on through the winding pathways 
and across a charming little bridge that led across 
the duck pond to the other side of the green. Chris¬ 
tine told her cousin about the afternoon on the barge 
and of the story Wisp had told. “Beryl says I’m 
very young for my age and I guess I am for I love to 
hear about fairies and I make up all sorts of things. 
It makes everything so much more interesting. I 
even make up stories about the garden at Fitzwilliam 
Square, though it’s so bare and brown. If only I 
could really believe things as Wisp does.” 

They stopped for a moment before a statue. It 
was a head and bust done in marble, and there was 
something so calm and still and brooding about it 
that it held their interest for the moment. “It’s 
Mangan, and he was a very great poet, one of the 
best ones Ireland has ever had. He has a good face 
and loved all beautiful things, I think,” said Chris¬ 
tine. 

They went on to the upper entrance gate and Vic¬ 
toria exclaimed suddenly, “Couldn’t we find the lit- 






94 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

tie girl? Couldn’t we go and see where she lives?” 
Christine hesitated. She had thought of it before 
herself. But would Wisp be glad, or sorry? 

“We might try, if you like,” she answered her 
cousin. “She lives at Jeffers Court on Cuff Street; 
it’s a very gloomy, dirty street,” she went on looking 
doubtfully at Victoria. 

“Never mind, it cannot harm us and I should like 
to see what it is, this very dismal place. I should 
like also to see Wisp,” Victoria said, and what she 
wanted to do, if it were at all possible, she generally 
did. They crossed the street and stood for a mo¬ 
ment uncertainly on the corner. Then Victoria 
looked up at the street sign. 

“See!” she exclaimed. “This is Cuff Street. The 
sign was printed in English and in Irish too.” 

Christine had turned away walking over to where 
a group of children stood in front of an old man. 
They were mostly Cuff Street children, but among 
the crowd were a few well dressed prosperous-look¬ 
ing boys and girls. Victoria came over and stood 
by Christine and together they watched the old man. 
He was standing near the corner busily at work and 
he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he 
seemed not to notice the children about him at all. 
He was making vegetable flowers. A bag of turnips 
lay on a camp stool beside him and near them was 
what looked like a small bunch of forget-me-nots and 
two red roses. A little girl in the crowd took up 
one of the roses.and put a coin in its place. “That’s 


IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 95 

it, little lady, that’s it,” muttered the old man, still 
busy with his work and not looking up at all. Some 
one else put down a coin, picked up the forget-me- 
nots and went on. Very soon a group of children 
straggled away down the gloomy haunts of Cuff 
Street, others going off toward the green, and be¬ 
fore they knew it Christine and Victoria found them¬ 
selves alone watching the old man. 

It was fun to see how clever he really was. He 
would first pick up a turnip, rolling it lovingly in his 
hand, and then with his penknife he would cut it into 
the shape of a rose or a daisy, a forget-me-not or a 
geranium. Then he would dip it in one of the little 
cans that stood at his feet on the sidewalk and it 
would come out a glowing rose or a yellow-hearted 
daisy. Victoria watched him intently. 

“He is clever,” she whispered to Christine. “I 
like to watch him because he is clever.” The old 
man looked up suddenly and smiled. 

“Help yourself, little lady, and don’t mind if *ye 
ain’t got a coin handy. Thim that likes ’em so can 
have ’em free!” he said. 

“I’ll take a rose, and what will you have, Chris¬ 
tine?” Victoria turned to Christine as she spoke. 

“The forget-me-nots,” answered Christine. 

“I have coins to pay for both, but thank you just 
the same,” said Victoria, putting some pennies on the 
chair and taking up the vegetable flowers. 

“Who taught you to make these?” she asked the 
old man and he answered her with a smile. “He 





96 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ain’t livin’ now, the man what taught me, little lady, 
and where he learned to make ’em was a secret. 
He’s nivir told no one.” The vegetable flower man 
had a very nice face and a wise one too. Christine 
took her bunch of forget-me-nots off the stool and 
spoke to him. “Can you tell me where Jeffers Court 
is, please? We want to find a girl whose name is 
Kathleen Magillicuddy.” Christine smiled as she 
said the last. It seemed so absurd for her Cuff 
Street friend to have any name but Wisp. 

“Do I know Kathleen? Shure I do, little lady. 
There ain’t no one about here that don’t know her. 
Jeffers Court ain’t much for the likes o’ you though, 
little lady. I live mesilf in Johnson’s Court fur¬ 
ther down—that’s fairish, but Jeffers Court ain’t a 
king’s palace. No, by the Saints it ain’t, little lady.” 
He peered down the street. “It do be the fifth hole 
in the wall and ye can go on through into the court,” 
he directed her. 

“Thank you. Won’t you tell us your name?” 
asked Victoria. 

“They do call me The Vegetable Flower Man,” 
he answered her, and'as they turned away he lifted 
his faded green-gray hat. They went on down the 
dirty sidewalk, skirting flapping pieces of paper that 
waved about in the brisk wind. When they came to 
the fifth opening in the wall they went inside, finding 
themselves in a dark enclosure, beyond which was a 
court. Near by voices of children reached them and 
they went on until they came to the court itself. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 


97 



It was deeply shadowed but the sun made a circle 
of light in the center and here sat a group of chil¬ 
dren in a row and in front of them stood Wisp. 
Above them was the harsh jangle of voices calling 
back and forth. Some cats snarled at each other 
from opposite ends of the court. Somewhere in the 
distance there was the cracked wail of a very old 
woman singing a baby to sleep. 

The children sat on a low bench and were so in¬ 
tent on their own affairs that they were in no way 
disturbed by the noise and confusion going on around 
them. Peg sat at one end of the bench and next her 
were two girls of eight and ten. They were Molly 
and Aggie Kinsale. 

Wisp had lived in their noisy household until she 
had found the Fairy Cottage and claimed it for her 
own. Dawson came next to Aggie Kinsale and was 
as solemn and pale as ever. Then came a stout boy 






98 IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

of about eleven who wore a long cloak, which evi¬ 
dently did not belong to him, and around whose 
neck was tied a purple muffler, or rather one that 
had once been purple but had faded to grayish black. 
Every now and then he kicked Dawson’s shins, but 
when Wisp gave him a searching look over the top 
of her book he appeared to be as innocent as could 
be. At the end of the row was Tin, his curls bobbing 
in the breeze, his whole being absorbed in devouring 
a very sour orange. He was the only one of the 
pupils who was allowed to do pretty much as he 
liked. This was Wisp’s school and the class was in 
full session. 

She held a notebook in her hand, brown paper 
donated by Foggy and sewed together with large 
stitches of black thread. As Christine and Victoria 
stopped to watch them from the shadow of the entry, 
Wisp was reading aloud. She read rapidly, because 
she was not sure of keeping the interest of her au¬ 
dience far very long and she had to vary her program 
a good deal. 

“I’ll just read out the bits I’ve put down about 
the last time and none of yez will be very proud o’ 
yourselves,” she remarked, scanning the page. ‘Peg 
Casey is head o’ the class wid a mark o’ ninety. Ag¬ 
gie Kinsale has eighty-five and Molly Kinsale has 
eighty.” She paused a moment and then went on 
reading slowly and dramatically. “The rest is as 
follows: Dawson Casey sixty,” and she paused 
again, then went on. “O’Sullivan Finney is zerol 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 99 

Tin, I give a mark of good because he answered a 
question right.” 

“He nivir did!” ejaculated O’Sullivan, not at all 
pleased to be beaten by a three-year-old. 

“Yes, indeed!” returned Wisp. “I says, ‘Where 
was ye born, Tin?’ an’ he up and says ‘Tinnyhinch,’ 
just as good as could be. Ain’t that where he was 
born and ain’t that why he’s named what he is? It’s 
jest as much geography as answerin’ what part o’ 
Ireland is Galway.” Wisp spoke firmly looking se¬ 
verely at her most unpromising pupil. 

O’Sullivan was silenced for a moment and then 
burst out‘with, “Ain’t it holidays at real school? 
Let’s do somethin’ else!” 

Wisp turned on him. “Go and do what ye please, 
O’Sullivan Finney. Go be the dunce that ye are. 
Ain’t they said to school where ye go that ye don’t 
know nothin’? Ain’t I tryin’ to help ye?” O’Sulli¬ 
van subsided into gloom and the class went on. 

Wisp started to speak but was interrupted several 
times. First by a cat fight and then by a harsh voice 
from an upper window. “Quit that soon now, and go 
on the errands I told ye, Aggie and Moll. As for 
Kathleen, shure, she might be doin’ somethin’ to pay 
back some of the board and bed she’s had from me!” 
Wisp looked up at the window, still holding the book 
in her hands. 

“Ain’t I goin’ to whin I start sellin’ flowers in the 
spring?” she answered her. 

“Ma’s awful cross to-day,” remarked Molly 





ioo Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Kinsale. There was a moment’s silence broken by a 
welcoming shriek from Tin who stooped to caress 
a gentle dirty gray cat, more peaceably inclined than 
the other ones. Then Wisp went on with the class. 

“We ain’t time for much more now, but we’ll meet 
on the upper landin’ to-morrow night at five and 
maybe Foggy Moyne’ll be there to help wid the sing¬ 
ing. For to-morrow, all that kin write good enough 
for me to read it is to hand in some lines about the 
Battle of the Boyne, and seein’ as how it was fought 
right out here to Clontarf and any one of us that 
kin scrape the tram fare can git there in twenty min¬ 
utes, all of us ought to know about it.” 

Victoria whispered to Christine, “Isn’t she a 
darling?” and Christine nodded smilingly. 

“I’ll end the class by reading out o’ the book the 
Sunday school lady give me. I’ve been a practisin’ 
of it up to Fairy Cottage and I kin say it most all cor¬ 
rect if I go slow. It’s the most beautifulest poem 
what I’m goin’ to read to ye and I want attention. 
Peg, you hold Tin on your lap. The poem is writ 
by a man named Blake. It says so on the cover!” 
Peg obediently went over to her brother, picked him 
up, cat and all, and sat down again. Then Wisp 
read aloud this poem. 

THE LAMB 

Little lamb, who made thee? 

Dost thou know who made thee? 

Gave thee life and bid thee feed 



IOI 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

By the stream and o’er the mead; 

Gave thee clothing of delight, 

Softest clothing, woolly, bright; 

Gave thee such a tender voice, 

Making all the vales rejoice. 

Little lamb, who made thee? 

Dost thou know who made thee? 

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee, 

Little lamb, I’ll tell thee: 

He is called by thy name, 

For he calls himself a Lamb, 

He is meek, and He is mild; 

He became a little child. 

I a child and thou a lamb, 

We are called by His name. 

Little Lamb, God bless thee! 

Little Lamb, God bless thee! 

Wisp read slowly and distinctly, hesitating over 
some of the hardest words and when she had finished 
she said importantly, “School is over for to-day and 
let all file out in order.” 

As she finished reading Christine and her cousin 
stepped back into the shadow, and from there on 
into the sunshine toward home. 








VIII.— The Pantomime 

“I’m goin’ out, Peg. Ye can go up to the cottage 
and stay till I come back if ye want to. I’ll not be 
long!” Wisp called from the hole in the wall as she 
went out into the damp winter night. 

It was very cold with the fierce penetrating damp¬ 
ness that seems to eat into one’s bones. Wisp walked 
quickly, wrapping the shawl that she wore over her 
jacket more closely about her. She made her way 
through the crowds easily for she was so thin that 
she seemed to dance her way through them without 
touching them. It was the evening of the second 
day before Christmas. 

“To-morrow’s the night Mr. Keith will be after 
cornin’ and they’ll all be off to the pantomime,” she 
102 





Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 103 

thought as she hurried on. She knew this because 
Foggy had told her. He and Patrick had become 
friends over their mutual interest in Blighty. 

How she would love to go! It wasn’t just the 
pleasure—it was thinking about it afterward, telling 
others. She had dreamed of it and thought of it 
and up in Fairy Cottage she had prayed over it. 
Foggy had promised to take her next year, but that 
time seemed a long way off! She felt in her pocket 
for the threepenny bit. She had saved it from her 
errand money. It had meant being hungry but she 
wanted to buy a gift for Christine. She turned 
off Grafton Street, thronged as it was with motors 
going theaterward and went on swiftly until the 
great mass of Christ Church Cathedral hove in 
sight. Passing it she turned into Francis Street, 
reaching the Ive^gh market. 

Entering the low doorway she stood looking about 
the paper-strewn room, at the rude booths where 
good natured voices called out their wares. Then she 
went on across the room, stopping in front of a stall 
at the far end and smiling a greeting at the fat shawl- 
covered owner. 

“Good-evenin’ to ye, Mrs. O’Fee, and a Happy 
Christmas. I’ve come to find a bit o’ a present for a 
friend o’ mine. I don’t know as ye’ll be after havin’ 
anything I want!” 

“Shure, darlin’, I’ve a choice o’ all sorts, grand 
they be some o’ them. Ye’re welcome to take till 
midnight lookin’ ’em over!” Mrs. O’Fee waved her 



104 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

hand dramatically over the contents of her table and 
then raised her voice. “This way for all that wants 
illigant garments. Coats goin’ cheap. Tables goin’ 
at loss to mesilf. Books as good as new and hats 
that would grace the head o’ an empress!” 

Wisp cast her eye over the contents of the table, 
covered with an array of secondhand junk, boots, 
shoes, hats and a many-colored array of ribbons and 
odds and ends more or less the worse for wear. Her 
heart sank. There was nothing that she could dream 
of giving to Christine for a Christmas gift. She 
had hoped that there might be some little thing that 
a three-penny bit could buy. After all it was not 
such a tiny sum! Auntie Moneypenny had told her 
that once in a great while one could find odd things 
that were pretty in the market, but she had said that 
the times of finding them were rare. 

She was about to turn away disheartened when 
something white caught her eye. It was wedged in 
between a pair of shoes and a cotton lace collar. It 
was a tiny china box and on the cover were two blue- 
gray doves. It was made of cheap china, but it had 
a certain charm. There was about it a quaintness. 
To Wisp it was beautiful. “What be the price o’ 
this, if ye please, Mrs. O’Fee?” she asked the 
woman. 

The owner of the booth turned and saw the little 
box in Wisp’s hand. “It do be sixpence, but I’m 
a robbin’ o’ mesilf for a half crown is what I should 
be after asking,” she answered. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 105 

“It do be more than I have. I’ve but threepenny 
bit. Could you be after lettin’ me have it on trust 
do ye think? I could pay ye a ha’penny a week now 
for a bit and when I’m sellin’ flowers regular in the 
spring, I can pay up quick!” Wisp looked at Mrs. 
O’Fee eagerly. She wanted the little white box for 
Christine very much, but she held her head high 
and she kept a pleading note out of her voice. 

Mrs. O’Fee considered her thoughtfully for a mo¬ 
ment. Then she said with a chuckle, “Ye wint off 
from Minnie Kinsale and found a bit o’ a place for 
yersilf. Glory be, but ye have the nerve wid ye! 
Take the bit o’ box and I’ll give ye the beautiful lit¬ 
tle treasure for the threepenny bit,” she sighed for¬ 
lornly, holding out her fat hand for the money. 
Wisp gave her the coin and hesitated. 

“I want to pay what it’s worth, Mrs. O’Fee,” she 
began, but the market woman cut her short. 

“ ’Tis a bargain! Seein’ as how it’s Christmas!” 
she exclaimed, and then pounding on the table she 
called out in strident tones, praising her wares. 

Wisp said a fervent “Thank ye,” and holding the 
precious box under her shawl, she scurried home 
through the narrow back streets in the shadow of the 
cathedral. 

At 50 Fitzwilliam Square all was festive and ex¬ 
citing. “To-morrow” was on every one’s tongue, 
and the thought of the pantomime and the arrival 
of Keith was in every one’s mind. 

The cousins were all together in the study, Blighty 




io6 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

sitting in the midst of tissue paper and ribbon, watch¬ 
ing with his inquisitive eyes all that was going on 
about him. During the last few days he had become 
a little more reconciled to the household at Fitzwil- 
liam Square and did not follow Patrick about every 
second like a frightened brown shadow. 

The cousins were mysterious about the presents 
they had brought for Beryl and Christine, and these 
two young people were full of curiosity about them. 
Victoria still looked pale and was still reserved and 
quiet. Sometimes Christine could hardly believe that 
they had had that stolen visit to Jeffers Court to¬ 
gether. Then again she would realize with a feel¬ 
ing of delight that her cousin turned to her and that 
she found comfort in being with her. Beryl seemed 
to be timid with Victoria. “They don’t understand 
each other. When they do they’ll be splendid 
friends,” Christine thought reassuringly. 

Their new dresses had come home from Switzer’s, 
a splendid shop on Grafton Street. They were very 
simple, but delightful. Beryl’s was rose and Chris¬ 
tine’s blue. They had tried them on the night before 
in front of their looking-glass and Joan had greatly 
admired them. Victoria had come in languidly while 
they were trying them on and had given her ap¬ 
proval. 

“The rose is charming for you, Beryl. It goes 
well with your cheeks,” she had said, and Beryl had 
flushed with pleasure. 

“I wonder what Victoria and Joan will wear to- 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 107 

morrow night,” Christine had remarked after the 
cousins had gone on into their room. She was think¬ 
ing about it as they did up presents there in the fire- 
lit study. 

“We’re not giving ourselves presents this year. 
Doesn’t it seem strange ? But I’m glad we gave a lit¬ 
tle for the refugees instead. Oh, what a Christmas 
for them!” exclaimed Beryl, speaking softly to Chris¬ 
tine as they stood side by side at a far corner of the 
room. They had come to a big wicker basket with 
some presents and stood together for a moment look¬ 
ing out into the darkness. 

The refugee children! Yes, it would be a hard 
Christmas for them and for others, too. Wisp— 
what of her? What kind of a holiday time would 
she have? Well, she would imagine one anyhow. 
Perhaps way up there in Fairy Cottage she would be 
very happy in her own way! Christine thought with 
satisfaction of her presents for her new friend. A 
handkerchief, such a pretty one. Christine felt sure 
that Wisp would like it; three copy books, real ones 
with nice stiff covers, a box of pencils, and a box of 
chocolates. 

Victoria had suggested the copy books and had 
supplied them. “Let us keep it a secret, the going to 
Jeffers Court,” she had said. Both the girls had 
in mind the picture of Wisp keeping school there in 
the dingy tenement and while she had watched her 
from the shadows a wish had come to Christine for 
Wisp. The pantomime! How Wisp would love it, 








108 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

the color and sparkle and music, and, above all, 
the fairies! If only she could come with them, 
but that was impossible, of course! Miss Peck’s 
face rose before Christine! They would not under¬ 
stand ! 

“How many seats are there in our box?” she 
asked, looking down at the parcel and speaking as 
naturally as she could. 

“Let me see! oh, a number I think! It is one of 
the largest ones, quite a little room by itself,” Miss 
Peck answered absently, addressing a Christmas let¬ 
ter to her father in England. 

It was then that the idea came to Christine. The 
box was large, and as she stood there tying the rib¬ 
bon about a package she remembered some of the 
things her father had told her of Dublin. “It was 
always good to happen into a friend’s box at the 
Gaiety Theater; nice roomy little places they were, 
too!” He had been in a particularly jolly mood 
when he had told them about it. Well, why not try 
to smuggle Wisp in, let her enjoy the pantomime 
in a shadowy corner of the box, see them all and 
enjoy them, too, as Christine knew so well she 
would do. No one need know, but would it be 
possible? 

She woke early the next morning and crept down¬ 
stairs as soon as she was dressed. She knew that 
Foggy came with the meat and she had a note for 
him to give to their mutual friend. This was the 
note: 


IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 109 

Dear Wisp: 

Will you try to be near the entrance to the Gaiety 
Theater to-night? Perhaps I can arrange it so that you 
can see the pantomime, but you must promise to be very 
quick and quiet and do exactly as I say. Be waiting as soon 
after eight as you can. Love from Christine. 

Late that afternoon just as Lizzie, the housemaid, 
was bringing the tea things, the doorbell rang 
sharply and Patrick came in with a telegram which 
he handed to Victoria. She read it through quickly 
and drew her brows together in a frown. 

“When she looks like that, something is wrong,” 
whispered Joan to Beryl. They knew at once what 
it was that really had happened. She looked up, 
turning toward Miss Peck and still frowning. 

“I’ve a wire from Keith. He says Uncle James 
wants him to spend Christmas Eve in London with 
him. He will take the early train from Euston in 
the morning and he won’t reach here until the after¬ 
noon boat!” 

There was a moment’s dismayed silence after Vic¬ 
toria made the dire announcement and then Miss 
Peck spoke in her usual way: “You poor, dear chil¬ 
dren, I know just how disappointed you must be! 
What a pity! Well, we shall have to console our¬ 
selves as best we can!” 

It was not so easily done, for Victoria refused to 
be consoled by any one or anything, and although 
she said nothing, she frowned through the very good 
dinner which Mrs. Mink with sudden Christmas 




no Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

spirit had ordered for them, and did not join in any 
of the flurry and excitement. 

They were all sorry about Keith, but after all it 
was Christmas Eve; they were going to the panto¬ 
mime, and for Christine at least there was the added 
excitement of smuggling Wisp into the box! She 
had not told any one of her plan, not even Victoria 
who seemed just then unapproachable. How lovely 
she was, this cousin from India, in the black velvet 
frock which had been made for her at her mother’s 
request. How like a tragic princess she looked with 
her brown hair falling in thick smooth masses way 
down each side of her face. 

The chicken and force meat, as Mrs. Mink called 
the stuffing, were delicious, even if they were disap¬ 
pointed about Keith. The trifle, a toothsome mix¬ 
ture of macaroons and fruit and cream, was also 
much appreciated, though Joan glanced a little apolo¬ 
getically at her sister as she took her second help¬ 
ing. Victoria herself scarcely ate at all. 

Christine felt excited as their cab drew up in front 
of the Gaiety. Had Foggy forgotten to deliver the 
note? No, there she was, standing close to the door 
and yet well in the shadow. It would have been dif¬ 
ficult for any one but Christine to have seen her at 
all, so small and thin was she, so drab and gray 
amongst the crowd. She was at Christine’s elbow as 
she came to the entrance. Miss Peck and the girls 
were a little ahead, and Patrick with the box ticket 
held out importantly had gone first of all. 


111 


IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Christine spoke hurriedly: “You must keep just 
as close as possible and when we’re in the box, keep 
well in the shadow,” she said softly. 

Wisp nodded, too overcome to speak, both at the 
possible wonder that lay before her and at the sight 
of Christine in her blue cloak with its wide swans- 
down collar. When they came to the ticket man 
Christine waited an instant until the others were 
through and then drawing Wisp’s arm through hers 
she went on quickly inside. The ticket man was very 
busy. There were many people and he had not 
noticed! 

Everything was in their favor. Christine had said 
at dinner that she wanted to sit at the back of the 
box and so she took one of the red velvet-covered 
chairs in the shadow of the background and Wisp 
knelt swiftly and silently behind her, yet where she 
could easily see the stage. The box was ill-lighted, 
and almost as soon as they had taken their seats the 
whole theater was in darkness, the curtain went up, 
and the fun began. 

The pantomime was Cinderella, and it was beauti¬ 
ful and funny. Wisp sat like a child in a dream, her 
hands folded tightly in her lap. She laughed softly 
at the jokes, but no one heard her, for every one else 
was laughing too. She listened entranced to Cin¬ 
derella’s sad little song as she sat alone in the ashes 
and she drew her hand across her eyes when the 
song was over. 

Christine was not the only one who had brought 






I 12 


JVisp~A Girl of Dublin 

an unexpected addition to the box party. Just be¬ 
fore they had left, Patrick had whispered with a low 
hiss to Joan: “Put Blighty under your cloak and 
bring him along. It will be fun to have him and I’m 
afraid to leave him home for he’s so clever he might 
try to run away again!” 

Joan had nodded excitedly, and so clinging close 
to her, un*der her cloak, Blighty had come to the 
pantomime. For the first part of the first act he 
sat quietly on Joan’s lap, but gradually crept cau¬ 
tiously over to the velvet railing of the box and from 
that vantage point watched the glitter and color 
on the stage and, until the curtain went down, only 
Joan and Patrick and Christine knew that he was 
there! 

The funny man was funnier than ever. Dublin 
children, who had gone to the pantomime so often 
it was a very old story, looked at each other as they 
laughed that night and whispered, “He’s the fun¬ 
niest one we’ve ever seen!” 

The curtain went down on a rain of applause. 
Wisp shrank back behind the thick velvet hangings 
at the far end of the box and the lights blazed forth! 

But the funny man was so popular they had to call 
him out once again. Even Victoria clapped vigor¬ 
ously and it was all that Wisp could do not to clap 
herself. Up went the curtain again, the lights blaz¬ 
ing and the orchestra playing a new tune. All about 
the funny man was the glitter and color and wonder 
of the stage and in the center he stood smiling. Then 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 113 

he said he wondered if any of them knew how to spell 
W oollo mo olo-o! 

He asked them all to join in and try to sing it with 
him. First of all he waved his hand imperiously to 
the orchestra leader who in turn waved his baton 
and they struck up this tune: 




mm 




Wf 


It was irresistible! The funny man need have 
had no fear that the audience would not aid him in 
spelling the funny word Woollomoolo-o in time to 
the easy swinging tune that the orchestra played. All 
the children sang lustily and some of the grown-ups. 
Even Miss Peck found herself humming the words. 
Wisp sang with the others, but when the funny man 
had disappeared for the last time and the lights 
blazed brighter than ever she shrank back almost 
behind the red velvet curtain and at that moment 
Keith appeared in the doorway of the box! 

For the first second the only ones that saw him 
were Christine and Wisp and the only one he saw 
was Wisp! His eyes rested on her for a moment 
in utter amazement as she sat way back in the 
shadow, her jacket unloosened at the throat show- 















114 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ing her shabby gray dress, her small eager face white 
with excitement. Then his eyes caught Christine’s 
imploring glance which seemed so plainly to say, 
“Don’t tell!” 



It was such a surprise, this sudden appearance of 
Keith, that for a moment no one knew what to say. 
Miss Peck found her voice first of all and after 
Joan’s exclamation, “It’s Keith,” was the first to 
pour forth a torrent of questions: 

“My dear Keith, what does this mean? How is it 
possible that you came, after all? Have you just 
come on the evening boat, and if so why weren’t you 
in time for dinner?” 

Miss Peck was always confused by the happening 
of anything out of the ordinary and she was for the 
moment rather flurried in her effort to make out the 
situation. It was a good thing that she did talk, for 
it gave the others a little time in which to subdue 
their emotions. It was three years since his sisters 
115 







ii 6 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

and Patrick had seen Keith, but except for Joan they 
did not appear to be excited as they really were. 
Keith was the most self-possessed of them all. He 
said, “Hello, everybody,” and answered Miss Peck’s 
questions easily, explaining his appearance. 

“So that stupid Perkins sent the wire, after all. 
He’s a dunderhead and always making mistakes. 
He’s Uncle James’s butler. There was some talk 
of my staying over, but I persuaded Uncle James 
that I’d better keep to the first plan.” 

“The wire,” put in Victoria, leaning forward and 
speaking quickly and excitedly now, “it was so dread¬ 
ful having it come this afternoon and made us so 
unhappy!” 

“That was the fault of old blockheaded Perkins, 
I tell you. He had a number of wires to send for 
Uncle James and muddled them up!” Keith an¬ 
swered her. 

As he spoke he glanced from one to the other of 
them and when Joan gave up her seat next Victoria 
to him, he sat down by his twin sister, who could 
not seem to realize that he had really arrived after 
her disappointment of the afternoon. 

The governess did not yet understand his non- 
appearance at dinner, but before she could ask him 
again about it Patrick said, coming over and standing 
by his brother in his eagerness and excitement at his 
unexpected arrival: “We had a ripping dinner and 
Vic wouldn’t eat any of it because you didn’t come!” 
Patrick liked to use some of the slang he had picked 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 117 

up on the boat coming over. He wanted Keith to 
see that he was something of a man. 

“Well, to tell you the truth I met up with the 
brother of a boy I know at school, on the boat. He’s 
been in the trenches for three weeks and he’s home 
on a few days’ leave. He had to take a train for 
Wexford at eight and wanted me to dine with him.” 

“You should have brought him along with you,” 
put in Beryl, who was almost as excited as Patrick 
at the arrival of her cousin. 

“I did suggest it, but he wouldn’t have time to 
do that and make his train. He’s a lucky beggar. 
He’s really doing something for his country.” As 
he spoke Keith frowned and looked restlessly over 
the audience which was waiting for the going up of 
the curtain for the second act. 

Just at that moment the lights were lowered and 
as darkness fell and the others were eagerly watch¬ 
ing the stage, Wisp crept quietly out of the box, ran 
quickly down the flight of softly carpeted stairs just 
outside, and was at the door leading to the lobby be¬ 
fore she knew it. 

She hesitated for a moment fearful that the ticket 
collector would see her and then like a gray flash 
she was out in the lobby, across it, and standing in the 
midst of the wintry windy night. Then she began to 
run and she did not stop until she reached the dark 
confines of Jeffers Court. She sat down for a mo¬ 
ment on the first step of the lowest flight leading up 
to her own abode, and buried her face in her hands. 





118 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

She was thinking of the look in Keith’s eyes when 
he had seen her there hiding in the corner of the box; 
a look of astonishment and disgust which seemed to 
say, “What can this shabby little girl have to do here 
in the Christmas party box with my sisters and cous¬ 
ins?” Poor Wisp was so sensitive that she imagined 
many other things that the look might have said such 
as: “What an odd idea, tying one’s shoes with 
cord. What strange hair. She must have cut it 
with a saw!” For some time she sat there on the 
lower step in the cold thinking of things the look 
might have said and of course all of this was 
foolish. 

When she did go on up the stairs she stopped at 
a door on the floor below Fairy Cottage and push¬ 
ing it gently open a little way said softly, “Auntie 
Moneypenny, ’tis me, Kathleen!” The cracked 
voice answered her, “Come on in then with ye,” and 
Wisp came in closing the door after her. 

“I’m after cornin’ back before it’s over,” she 
explained. 

Now auntie was very much surprised to see her 
little friend, having thought of her as enjoying the 
pantomime. She had waited anxiously after Wisp 
had gone, fearing that after all the little young lady 
from Fitzwilliam Square had not been able to take 
Wisp into the box, but as time went on and she did 
not return, auntie was full of joy for Wisp. She 
was wise enough not to make any comment now 
that the child had evidently stayed for a little and 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 119 

then come back. She knew that in her own way when 
she was ready to do so, Wisp would tell her. 

“Come in then, aroon. I was just thinkin’ o’ a cup 
o’ tea and what about the tin o’ Jacob’s biscuits!” 
As she spoke auntie hobbled over to a cupboard and 
opening its door brought out two cups and saucers, a 
small can of tea, and then, reaching in again, handed 
Wisp a brown teapot. 

“There’s good fresh water in the pail. Foggy was 
after a-bringin’ o’ it up to me to-night. I’ve the 
muffler done for him and a rare good green one it 
is!” Auntie busied herself in putting out the cups 
and saucers while Wisp put the kettle on to boil. 

“Shure ye better not use the biscuits, auntie. 
They’re grand, but they’re near gone !” remonstrated 
Wisp as they drew up to the little table. 

“Ain’t it Christmas Eve? We’ve a right to a bit 
o’ cheer, ain’t we? I do be glad enough to see ye, 
for I’ve been a-thinkin’ a bit o’ all the days gone 
by.” This was canny of Auntie Moneypenny, for she 
wanted her friend to feel that she was helping her 
in coming back and she was afraid that already she 
might be regretting having left the theater. 

“It was grand, I suppose, what you was after 
seein’. Nice music maybe. I saw a pantomime once 
or twice in me day, but never was I after gettin’ an in¬ 
vitation from the gentry. Ye saw some o’ the play?” 

Wisp smiled uncertainly as she answered, “Yes, 
auntie, the whole first act.” 

She sat looking across at the old woman in the 







120 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

shawl and although she loved her, for the moment 
she scarcely saw her. She was seeing again the magic 
of the moment when first Fairy Godmother ap¬ 
peared, but the delight of her thought was for just 
that brief instant as Auntie Moneypenny broke in 
with a question: 

“What was they all after wearin’?” 

“Miss Christine had a blue dress and a coat the 
same color. It had fur like white kitten all ’round 
the top o’ it. She looked like an angel!” 

How Christine would have enjoyed hearing her¬ 
self called an angel by Wisp ! 

“Miss Beryl, she wore pink and her cheeks was red 
as apples. The strange young lady from India was 
all in black, but it was awful pretty. She has grand 
hair failin’ over her shoulders. She looked cross 
like and kind o’ hungry.” 

Victoria would not have relished this description 
of herself! 

“The little lady, Miss Joan, was fun to look at 
and Master Patrick’s a fine wan. Miss Christine, 
she whispered to me goin’ up the stairs that Miss 
Joan was after bringin’ the monkey, but I didn’t see 
him,” she spoke regretfully. 

Auntie Moneypenny knew very well that it was too 
early for the pantomime to be over, but she wisely 
said nothing, only nodding her head with interest, as 
she listened. 

Suddenly Wisp stood up and coming up to her 
friend put her hand on her arm. 


I 2 I 


IVisp — A Girl of Dublin 

“ ’Twas at the end o’ the act, auntie. Mr. Keith 
came sudden like and he saw me kneelin’ there on the 
floor by the curtain, just like I am, all shabby and 
me hair flyin’ like it does and me jacket sleeve all 
tore. Shure, I mended it once to-day wid a bid o’ red 
cotton you was after givin’ me, but it tore out again. 
He saw it; yes, I know he did! He looked queer like 
he was so surprised and why shouldn’t he be? Ain’t 
I just awful lookin’, auntie? If you was a rich lady 
would you be after wantin’ your children to be 
a-knowin’ of me?” 

Auntie Moneypenny gazed at her for a moment 
in utter astonishment, and then she knew why it was 
that Wisp had run away from the pantomime. 

“Know ye?” she queried, her voice going higher 
and higher in her excitement. “Know ye?” she re¬ 
peated. “Listen to me then,” she leaned forward 
impressively as she spoke. “If I was the queen o’ 
this whole island and any one came to me and says, 
‘Who’s the best gal to be playmate to me children?’ 
—maybe a duchess would be after askin’ me or some 
grand lady-in-waitin’—what answer would I be af¬ 
ter givin’ ? I’d say to them, ‘There be many fine girls 
in this blessed land, but look through the whole length 
and breadth and ye’ll not find one as can touch 
Kathleen Magillicuddy!’ ” 

Wisp could not help but laugh at auntie’s funny 
way of comforting her, but as she sat there with her 
old friend close to the faint warmth of the stove, en¬ 
joying the very hot tea and the very good Jacob’s 





122 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

biscuits which the visiting nurse lady had brought to 
Auntie Moneypenny, she began to feel better. It 
was Christmas Eve as auntie had said and they must 
make cheer. Auntie was glad that she had come 
home. How strange it must be to be all alone, the 
last of a big family, with only the sweet sad memo¬ 
ries to keep one company, memories of long-ago days 
and friends, of turf fires and Christmas carols and 
lighted candles in low rude windows! 

Auntie was so very old that it was hard to believe 
she had not lived forever! I doubt if she really 
could have told exactly herself just what her age 
might be. When any one asked her, as they often 
did at Jeffers Court, she would answer, “I was born 
some time before the Big Wind,” and she dated al¬ 
most everything either before or after that episode 
which was a huge cyclone that did much damage in 
Ireland many years ago. Auntie could tell strange 
things about fairies and doings in the old days, but 
she would not do so very often, and only Wisp and 
Foggy and Peg knew her wonderful stories. 

To-night her one thought was to bring a smile to 
the face of Wisp and so she talked on in her thin, 
shrill voice, telling of this and that. Finally she said 
craftily, “Whoever would have been a-thinkin’ you’d 
be asked by the young lady to go to the pantomime? 
She must have wanted yer company bad enough! 
Some folks needs grand do-dads to make people 
take to ’em, others is so smart and good-spirited they 
gits friends no matter what they’re after wearin’ I” 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 123 

Wisp’s face lightened a little at this as auntie 
meant it should. 

Meanwhile the pantomime progressed from one 
brilliance to another. Beryl had to admit to Chris¬ 
tine afterward that pantomimes were far nicer than 
musical comedies. After the second act Keith and 
Victoria talked together in low tones, she telling him 
in her quick, low voice the news of the family in In¬ 
dia. Christine in spite of her concern for Wisp could 
not help but be diverted by Blighty who refused to 
sit anywhere but on the edge of the box and although 
there was no harm in this, it caused so much excite¬ 
ment among the audience that it was embarrassing. 
On every side were whispers: 

“See him! Isn’t he funny? Fancy bringing a 
monkey to the pantomime!” 

Some small boys whistled to him and in spite of 
remonstrances from parents came up to the side of 
the box and tried to pat him. In fact, so popular 
did he become that, on being asked what part of the 
evening they had enjoyed the most, numbers of small 
boys had answered, “The monkey!” 

Miss Peck was annoyed and embarrassed, for their 
box was the center of all eyes and Blighty seemed 
in one of his most tantalizing moods. He called out 
once or twice making such an unearthly sound that 
every one laughed and it distracted their attention 
from the stage. 

“It’s a wonder they don’t come and tell you to 
take the beggar home. If they do you’ll have to go, 







124 IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

you know. Don’t think you’re going to spoil our 
fun. You can just call a cab and go back to the 
Square with your pet,” Keith whispered teasingly to 
Patrick who was so impressed by this that he spoke 
very sternly to the monkey in Hindoostani and after 
a while he did quiet down. 

They wanted to take outside cars home as Keith 
hadn’t yet ridden in one, but Miss Peck said they 
were not warmly enough clad and no one wanted to 
hold Blighty on an outside car, especially as he was 
in such a hilarious mood. 

When they reached home Christine and Victoria 
went upstairs where, on the couch in Victoria’s room, 
lay Christine’s presents for Wisp, and next them 
shining like a star was a filmy, rose-gold, shim¬ 
mering Indian scarf. 

“It’s the most beautiful thing I have and so I 
want Wisp to have it,” Victoria had said earlier in 
the day when she had showed it to her cousin. 

“It’s like all the things you dream about. Isn’t 
it wonderful for some one who has never had any¬ 
thing lovely to have this?” Christine had answered. 

They wrapped it in its tissue-paper covering, and 
at Christine’s suggestion Victoria wrote on a Christ¬ 
mas card: 

“From an unknown friend.” 

“That’s just the thing to put on the card, for you 
really are unknown. You saw her teaching school 
but she doesn’t know it,” said Christine. 

They put the parcel with the other presents and 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 125 

then went downstairs. The others were all in the 
study and Keith was telling Beryl about a hockey 
match. She was smiling and interested and went off 
unwillingly when Miss Peck called her to ask her 
some question about a present. The study was 
trimmed with holly and Patrick and Keith had to put 
up some mistletoe. All that Patrick had done to 
help was to steady the ladder while Keith fastened 
the wonderful gray-green bunch under the chande¬ 
lier. The mistletoe grew in their own garden. Beryl 
and Joan had picked it that morning. 

It was lovely there in the great old room with its 
gleam of firelight, its holly, and its green festooning. 
It seemed touched with some of the peace and mirth 
and the joy of Christmas. On a chair by the fire 
were a pile of stockings, one for each of them, in¬ 
cluding Miss Peck. It was late, but there was much 
to be done, stockings to be hung, presents to be tied 
up, and cards to be written on. 

“Fun being up so late and no one saying anything, 
isn’t it, Paddy?’’ Joan whispered to Patrick, who 
nodded an affirmative. 

It was just as she was leaving the room when 
everything was in readiness that Christine came face 
to face with Keith, the others having gone on. She 
had dreaded this, for she knew that he would de¬ 
mand an explanation of Wisp’s presence. 

“Well—what on earth did you have hidden away 
there in the box? Who was it, or rather what was 
it? I wasn’t sure if it were a human or an elf, but 





126 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

I do know its jacket was torn and that it needed to 
comb its hair!” 

Christine flushed and answered indignantly: “You 
frightened her away. I know it. She is my dear 
friend.” 



X.— Christmas 


Mrs. Mink was up betimes on Christmas morn¬ 
ing and she made some crisp remarks to Cook when 
Hattie, the parlor maid, rang the breakfast gong 
for the third time. 

“Such goin’s on! Them children up till midnight 
laughing and callin’ back and forth. Here it’s well 
past nine o’clock and not one of them ready 
for breakfast, not even Miss Peck! A nice kind 
of governess she is. Spoilin’ them the way she 
does!” 

Mrs. Mink bustled angrily about the kitchen as 
she spoke. Cook took a freshly baked barn-brack 
from the oven and then eyed the housekeeper 
uneasily. Would she never go out of the kitchen! 
Cook did not think it needful to tell Mrs. Mink that 
127 








128 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Christine had been downstairs early and had left a 
mysterious bundle and a note for Foggy, to be given 
to him when he came with his order from the 
butcher’s. He was likely to arrive at any moment 
and Cook herself had baked an especially nice barn- 
brack for him. Fortunately there was the sound of 
voices and of people running downstairs and Mrs. 
Mink rushed on into the front of the house, a sharp 
scolding on her lips. Cook meanwhile dished up 
breakfast, her eye out for Foggy. 

The housekeeper’s scolding died on her lips, or 
rather was so modified that it did not sound more 
formidable than a mild rebuke. It was the presence 
of Keith that made the change. No one knew just 
why, but undoubtedly he seemed to inspire her with 
a certain respect. She even curtsied when Miss Peck 
said : 

“This is Mr. Keith, Mrs. Mink. There was a 
mistake about the wire and he came, after all.” 

It was a happy breakfast, for every one was in 
holiday spirit and even Blighty seemed to feel that 
it was not just an ordinary meal. He sat on Patrick’s 
shoulder and ate a bit of toast and jam carefully and 
meditatively. He did not like this peculiar kind of 
food particularly, but as every one seemed so friendly 
and evidently wanted him to join in the fun he was 
quite willing to go to any length that they chose to 
have him. Every one was determined not to be 
homesick, or if they were just the least little bit, not 
to show it. They had agreed to have the presents 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 129 

late in the afternoon when the wire had come saying 
Keith would not be with them in the morning, but 
as he was there, it was decided to have all that part 
of the celebration at once. 

After breakfast Christine went out to the kitchen 
and questioned Cook, who assured her that she had 
delivered'the package safely to Foggy who had come 
while they were at breakfast. 

“I baked up a loaf of the barn-brack for him 
whin I was a-doin’ of the others, Miss Christine, and 
he was that pleased with it. He’s a doat of a lad 
he is, with his round smiling face. I was after 
a-showin’ him whin I took it out of the oven, all 
brown lookin’. Thin I wrapped it up in a good bit o’ 
paper. He was that pleased!” 

“You’re sure he understood about the package, 
Cook? You see there’s something for him inside 
it,” said Christine. 

Cook nodded. “He knows, miss, so don’t you 
worry at all, at all. He was glad enough that ye 
thought o’ his little friend you was after tellin’ me 
of. He was better pleased about it than about the 
bit o’ bread!” she answered. 

Mrs. Mink bustled into the kitchen and Christine 
ran on into the front of the house and upstairs to 
the study where the others had already gathered. 
There was no fire in the big old fireplace because the 
stockings were hung from the mantel. They made 
an odd sight, for there was every shape and color 
among them. Patrick had borrowed a pair of Cook’s 






130 JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

and they were large and of a peculiar shade of red. 
Patrick’s stocking was very full indeed. 

Mrs. Mink had taken a look in at the library 
before breakfast and had remarked to Cook, “What 
a waste of paper and ribbon!” 

Cook was just as much in holiday spirit as any 
one and had answered briskly, “I’m glad they’re 
able to enjoy the time o’ year, for a nicer, more 
friendly set o’ children I ain’t seen in many a 
day!” 

“They’re spoiled, and if I had my way they’d 
be obeyin’ rules, not bossin’ all creation as Miss 
Beryl does. She’d like to be givin’ her orders to 
me. Just let her try it, that’s all,” was the house¬ 
keeper’s reply. 

“Don’t you think we’d better have dinner to-night 
and not in the middle of the day, Pecky?” Beryl 
had said. “You see we want to go to the service 
at Saint Patrick’s in the afternoon and it will be 
more fun to have the real Christmas dinner after 
we come back!” 

Miss Peck answered timidly, “Just as Mrs. Mink 
says, dear.” 

The housekeeper refused absolutely, but Cook 
came to the rescue. 

“Bless ’em, sure it don’t matter to me one way 
or the other. It’s the time o’ year when they can 
do as they please. It’s a big pleasure to Miss Beryl 
to plan a bit and, glory be, I don’t mind her. There 
ain’t no Christmas for me but to cook and fuss a bit 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 131 

for ’em. Himself was that fond o’ me Christmas 
puddin’ and now that he’s gone it don’t matter much 
one way or the other. He was good, was my man, 
and we was as happy as two children, him and me. 
He went awful quick; was took sudden like just this 
time o’ year, five Christmases ago. I ain’t no place 
to go gallivantin’ off to. Dinner can be at midnight 
for all of me !” So Beryl’s plan held good and Cook 
had the whole day to chop and bake and mix her 
goodies. 

They had all said over and over that they only 
wanted the simplest kind of Christmas because of 
its being war time, and for that very reason perhaps 
they enjoyed the little things they had made for 
each other most of all. Victoria and Joan had 
brought their cousins each a sandalwood fan and a 
soft scarf of India silk. Beryl’s was gold and Chris¬ 
tine’s was blue and silver. The girls were so de¬ 
lighted with them that they stopped in whatever else 
they were doing every little while and went over and 
looked at them. 

It was great fun seeing the different ones discov¬ 
ering their presents,, Miss Peck especially. She 
had such an odd assortment of gifts that she was 
bewildered. The girls from India had brought her 
an Oriental lounging robe and Patrick a small enamel 
elephant. Beryl had made her some handkerchiefs 
with shamrocks elaborately embroidered in the cor¬ 
ners, and Christine, who sewed very badly, a case 
to put them in. She was quite overcome by all the 




132 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

things that were showered upon her and very much 
pleased. 

Beryl had made presents for every one in the 
house though she had hesitated about Mrs. Mink. 

“You might make her one of those letter paper 
holders. You can do them quickly, they’re pretty, 
and it will make her more good-natured over the 
holidays,” Christine had suggested. 

“I don’t believe she ever writes letters,” Beryl 
had objected, starting at once to make the letter 
paper holder, however. Mrs. Mink came in rather 
unwillingly with Cook and the maids, while the gift 
presenting was going on. They all watched to see 
how she would look when she opened her presents 
and every one was relieved to see that she seemed 
pleased. Yes, she did write a great many letters to 
her nieces in London. The letter paper holder and 
the stationery inside it and the pearl-handled pen 
holder from Miss Christine were just what she 
wanted. Cook, too, was delighted with a cross- 
stitch handkerchief made by Beryl and a sachet made 
by Christine. It was of pink satin and very fragrant, 
but it was of a more peculiar shape, resembling a 
turtle more than anything else, though no one was 
impolite enough to say so. She was also pleased 
with a box of Turkish Delight from the children 
from India. On the whole, in spite of wars and 
separations, they all managed to have a happy 
morning. 

“It’s all right if you don’t think too much!” Vic- 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 133 

toria said to Christine. They were standing together 
by the big chair which they shared for a place to put 
their gifts. As she spoke Victoria leaned over and 
picked up hers from Beryl. It was a camisole, 
daintily made of pale pink crepe de chine and edged 
with narrow lace. There were French knots on the 
shoulder ribbons. 

“Beryl is so clever,” she said, holding the garment 
gently. It made them both think suddenly of the 
scarf and Christine said eagerly: 

“Cook told me she gave the package to Foggy, 
and that she baked him a barn-brack. Oh, I wonder 
what Wisp thinks of the scarf, it is so heavenly. It’s 
about the most beautiful thing that any one could 
have. A queen would be glad to own it—a Fairy 
Queen!” 

A shout from the other end of the room made 
them run over to see what was going on. Patrick 
had just opened a strange-looking bundle and had 
drawn forth something which looked stranger still. 
It was his gift from Beryl and it proved to be a neat, 
red suit for Blighty and a funny little red cap to go 
with it. Patrick was delighted, and Keith said: 

“All you need now, Paddy, is an organ grinder!” 

Mrs. Mink showed her gratitude by going out 
and brewing them some of her very good chocolate. 

They discussed their presents over the chocolate 
and Victoria read aloud bits of a letter from her 
mother that had come that morning, keeping the 
most intimate parts of it just for themselves. 







134 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Ayah puts flowers in each one of your rooms 
every morning just as she has always put them in 
Keith’s every day since he’s been away from us at 
school,” their mother wrote. 

Victoria had not intended to read this part out 
loud, for she knew that her twin brother disliked 
anything that seemed to have sentiment about it. 
He went over to the window and stood there with 
his back to them for a few moments looking out. 

“He’s upset because she read that about Ayah. 
He writes her sometimes and he sends her presents, 
but he wouldn’t like us to say anything about it. He’s 
her favorite of all of us!” Joan whispered to Chris¬ 
tine under cover of the general conversation. 

“Isn’t he tall and nice looking! Wouldn’t he be 
splendid in a uniform?” Christine answered her. 

Joan looked anxious and put her hand on her 
cousin’s arm. 

“Never say that to him, please. Father’s had so 
much worry with him. His letters have been full of 
the war. He’s only fifteen, of course. You know 
he’s Vic’s twin. He looks older and wants strangers 
to think he is. He doesn’t like people to think that 
he and Vic are twins,” she answered. 

They decided to take an outside car to the cathe¬ 
dral and to walk back. They all went except Blighty 
who was locked in the study so he could not possibly 
run away. There was such a large party of them 
that they phoned for two cars, and even then it was 
a tight squeeze. Miss Peck remarked this as they 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 135 

started off and the driver, an odd-looking individual 
in a long mud-colored coat and wide hat, turned 
around and joined in the conversation. 

“Saints, miss, this ain’t nothin’. Wait till toward 
spring and ye see them a-comin’ in late Sunday after¬ 
noons from up the Dargle way. Ten on a side, I’ve 
seen with me own eyes, dear, though how they do 
it I couldn’t be after tellin’ ye!” he said to the 
governess, who answered stiffly: 

“Indeed!” and held on to the side of the car as 
tightly as she could. 

It was a nice outside car with two wheels, rubber- 
tired. There was a little bench-like seat which could 
hold three people comfortably on each side. They 
sat back to back, and the driver in front. He drove 
a frisky little horse and they all enjoyed the brisk 
drive to the cathedral. 

How gray it was! How strange and dim and 
still, with a waiting silence that had in it something 
beautiful. They were early, due to Beryl’s eager 
protestations that they would not be able to have 
seats if they were not there well in advance. The 
vast place filled slowly at first and then more rapidly. 
They sat in a row except for Christine and Victoria, 
who were just behind the others. They were well at 
the back and some one standing behind the last seats 
on their side of the cathedral saw them, some one 
who stood at the front of a crowd of those who had 
come in to hear the carols. It was Wisp. Peg was 
with her and the inevitable Dawson, but Tin was 






136 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

absent. Wisp and Peg did not go to the same church 
as did most of the children at Jeffers Court. They 
seldom went to church at all, but they always came 
to hear the carols at the cathedral. Wisp’s mother 
had been a Methodist and Peg’s grandfather had 
been sexton in a fine Presbyterian church in the 
north. Peg’s mother was very proud of telling of 
this and was given to saying that the family had all 
been grand and respectable as long as her father 
had lived. 

The cathedral was below Cuff Street and a good 
distance, but it was in one of the poorest sections of 
the city and its grayness blended with the grayness 
all about it, its dimness with the mist-filled lane-like 
alleys all about it, but its spires caught the sunshine, 
and the wonder of its stained glass windows made a 
glory of color in the heart of the dreariness. 

Wisp wore her old shawl under her jacket for it 
was very cold, and on her head she had a warm 
sky-blue wool tam-o’-shanter. Auntie Moneypenny 
had knitted it for her as soon as she was better from 
the rheumatism, earlier in the year. The visiting 
hospital lady had brought her the wool, the same one 
who had given her the Jacob’s biscuits. She had 
presented it to her little friend that morning and it 
was very becoming to Wisp’s shock of bright hair. 
Peg was gay in her red tarn and they both had cloth 
gloves which Mrs. Casey had bought for them at a 
wonderful sale over at the Daisy market across the 
river. Wisp and Foggy and Auntie Moneypenny 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 137 

had had dinner with the Caseys and Foggy had 
provided the meat, a small piece of pork. It had 
been a present to him from the butcher. Mrs. Casey 
had cooked it with greens and potatoes and had 
made herself a treacle pudding such as she had had 
as a girl. There had been no such meal in the Casey 
household for many a moon. 

The music came suddenly, first a murmur of the 
organ and then a great wild jubilant melody that rose 
and rose and seemed to mingle with the winter sun¬ 
shine that streamed through the high windows. Then 
the service began. 

When “Church was over,” as Patrick expressed it, 
they stayed in their seats at the request of Miss Peck, 
who greatly disliked crowds. They did not mind 
waiting, for there was so much to see and the music 
of the organ was so wonderful. 

Peg complained that she was tired of standing but 
Wisp did not feel it at all. She was in a world of 
her own just then. The day had been so wonderful. 
First Foggy’s “Merry Christmas” at the foot of the 
ladder. Then the unbelievable surprise of the 
Christmas package from Christine! She could not 
yet realize it at all. There was a puffy rose cushion 
and a rose bath mat which made an ideal rug for 
Fairy Cottage. There was a box of Indian Relish 
and a jar of peach jam, and last of all, something 
folded in soft paper wrappings, something as lovely 
as a rainbow, a dream, or a flower—the Indian 
scarf, and with it a card on which in Victoria’s sharp, 






138 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

delicate handwriting were the words, “Happy 
Christmas for Wisp from an unknown friend.” 
Could anything have been more mysterious than 
that! Then she had taken around the few little 
gifts she had made for her Jeffers Court friends. 
She knew that Foggy had delivered her little gift. 
Suddenly in the midst of the service she saw her and 
the others, and touching Peg’s arm she whispered, 
“That’s Miss Christine as I was a-tellin’ ye about.” 
Wisp felt suddenly shy at the thought of seeing 
Christine. 

Foggy had given her a tiny Christmas tree with a 
red candle on it which she had lit. As it sat there 
on her shelf it had made Fairy Cottage very Christ- 
masy. She thought of it as she stood there in the 
cathedral. As soon as the service was over, she 
touched Peg’s arm. 

“We’ll be goin’ now,” she whispered. They went 
out ahead of the crowd and found themselves in 
the midst of soft whiteness. It had begun to snow 
and a faint silver cover lay on the dinginess about 
the cathedral. They ran home in delight through a 
white world which not even the gloom of Jeffers 
Court could darken. 

Victoria was silent from sheer rapture as they 
came out into the wonder of the snow, because 
except for seeing it on the high mountains in the 
far distance she had only imagined snow in her 
dreams. 

They all agreed to walk home and it was strange 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 139 

to find the gray old city through which they had 
driven an hour before suddenly touched with glit¬ 
tering white. It seemed, coming quietly and unex¬ 
pectedly as it did, to be the loveliest Christmas 
gift of all. 

Christine went into the kitchen when they reached 
home, and Cook, on seeing her, wiped her hands on 
a kitchen towel, straightened her apron, and went 
over to the shelf above the stove and, reaching up, 
took down a small object wrapped in brown paper. 

“I’m askin’ yer pardon, miss, for I forgot entirely 
that the lad Foggy was a-givin’ o’ me somethin’ 
for ye!” 

Christine felt at once that it was from Wisp. She 
did not open the little package until she had gone 
on through into the dining room. It was neatly done 
up and tied with a bit of red ribbon and inside was 
the white box that Wisp had purchased from the 
woman at Iveagh market. On top of it was a care¬ 
fully cut piece of white paper on which was pasted 
a gold paper star under which was written: 

“Miss Christine, with the wishes of Christmas, 
from Wisp.” 

Christine put the little box with the blue doves 
on the cover up to her face with a quick, loving 
gesture and then, holding it carefully, went on up¬ 
stairs to show it to Victoria. 

Miss Peck sat alone in the study after tea, a 
shawl about her shoulders. She had been thinking 
of her father and her quiet vicarage home, wonder- 




140 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ing if the cousin spending the winter with him would 
make him as comfortable as she had done. She 
would have liked above all things to have heard his 
simple sermon at the evening service in the little ivy- 
covered church that Christmas night, but she was 
used to wanting to do things that she could not do, 
and almost at once her thoughts drifted away from 
herself to the children. They had all seemed fairly 
happy. Christmas had been so far free from any 
outward sign of homesickness. Mrs. Langsley was 
right, Keith was the most difficult to know. She 
could see that already. 

While Miss Peck sat there by the fire, thinking of 
the children, Keith came into the room. At first 
he did not see her as he went over to the window 
and stood looking out. When he turned and saw 
that she was there he came up to her and stood with 
one foot on the fender. It was evident that he 
wanted to say something and did not know how to 
begin. 

“How pleased the girls and Patrick were about 
the snow. It’s odd to realize that they’ve never 
seen it before,” commented the governess. 

“They’ve seen it high up on the mountains, but 
that isn’t the same,” he answered her. Then he 
turned, facing her, and she saw that he was frowning. 

“Miss Peck, I want you to know that it is against 
my wishes that the children are here. Uncle James 
knows how I feel and so does father,” he said to 
her. She was interested and surprised, but she found 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 141 

it difficult not to smile at his saying “the children,” 
for, after all, he was the same age as Victoria and 
Joan was not so very much younger. 

“What do you mean, Keith?” she asked, glad 
that of his own accord he had spoken to her confi¬ 
dentially. 

He kicked the fender for a moment thoughtfully 
and then he spoke with his usual blunt quietness. 

“Father and Uncle James insist on treating me as 
if I hadn’t any sense. They never listen seriously 
to anything I say. Uncle James and I had a long 
talk day before yesterday at his club at tea. He 
knows that if I’m alive next year I’ll go out and 
fight. There is no use in their arguing. I shall go.” 
He stopped and kicked the fender some more, staring 
gloomily into the fire. 

Miss Peck wisely refrained from saying that 
because of his youth he would be refused by the 
government. Before they knew it they were deep 
in war talk, she telling of some of the letters she 
had had from Tommies to whom she had sent things, 
Keith listening with interest because it was the thing 
that interested him. 

“I don’t think it’s going to be any too safe here 
for the children, but perhaps I’m wrong. Anyway, 
I’m glad you’re with them, Miss Peck,” he said. 

They had quite a talk together there in the fire¬ 
light and the governess was happy that Keith had 
confided in her and evidently liked her. They were 
friends all of a sudden and she felt as though to 






142 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

have gained his liking was a big step toward lighten¬ 
ing some of her responsibility. 

Dinner was the most fun of all, for this time 
there were no gloomy faces as there had been the 
night before, and even Mrs. Mink was in good 
spirits. After some urging they persuaded her to 
join them at the table and so she did. She had on 
her best black dress and frilled cap and looked like 
a Dickens character. 

Cook’s turkey was beyond reproach, as were her 
mashed potatoes and vegetables. The plum pudding 
came in as brown and plump as could be and there 
was a tiny blue flame on the top of it and a sprig 
of holly. They laughed and told stories and jokes 
and no one seemed to enjoy it all more than Mrs. 
Mink herself. Christine stood up as the pudding 
was brought in, and holding up her glass of ginger 
ale, said: 

“Here is a health to absent friends.” And they 
all stood up and drank it, she and Beryl thinking of 
their soldier father in Salonica, the children from 
India of their far-away home and people, and Miss 
Peck and Mrs. Mink of quiet English villages and 
dear ones there. 

Patrick, who was excited, called out, “Here’s a 
health to every one!” 

Just then on the clear night air came the sound of 
singing! 


XI.— “Little Town of Bethlehem” 


The sound was elusive; first it seemed far away 
somewhere in the white silence of the garden. Then 
the words came clearly and as they all crowded to 
the window looking out, Keith exclaimed, “There’s 
some one by the hawthorn tree—see! There are 
two of them, and they’re children.” 

Sure enough! They could see two small figures 
outlined against the dark tree. 

“We must ask them in. That’s what they always 
do in Ireland Christmas Eve,” said Beryl, but already 
the two were moving toward the back of the house, 
and the carol came only faintly to the ears of the 
children by the window. As you may have guessed, 
the two singers were Wisp and Foggy, and if it had 
not been for Blighty it is probable that they would 
have disappeared as mysteriously as they came. 






144 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Blighty had been bored during dinner. No one 
seemed to pay any attention to him and he did not 
enter into the fun with his usual zest. He waited 
until the nuts were passed around and after helping 
himself generously, jumped noiselessly off Patrick’s 
shoulder, and during the general hilarity attendant 
on dessert and especially the appearance of the plum 
pudding, he vanished through the open door into 
the kitchen and as Cook had left a window open, 
flashed on out to the window sill, caught hold of the 
ivy on the outer wall, and swung himself down on to 
something that was cold and soft and glistening, 
something that for the moment bewildered him. 
Then with a leap he sprang between* two figures that 
were approaching him and nearly overthrowing the 
smaller of the two he bounded over a low, prickly, 
gleaming hedge and ran on wildly down to the far 
end of the garden. 

After him ran the two figures that had so startled 
him. They dodged in and out of bushes, laughing 
happily in the clear air. 

The children watched the chase from the window 
and Patrick would have rushed on out, regardless 
of his coat, had not Keith caught him and forced it 
on him. The others laughingly threw on capes and 
coats, whatever they could find in the musty old 
cupboard under the stairs, and regardless of Miss 
Peck’s call of, “Galoshes. None of you have on 
your galoshes!” They all rushed on out of the 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 145 

French window off the dining room and joined in 
the chase. 

The quiet, dreaming garden was transformed. A 
moment or so before there had been just the snow- 
covered paths and sparkling hedges under the blaz¬ 
ing Christmas sky. Now there was laughter, calling 
back and forth, and running feet. 

Blighty enjoyed the chase as much as any one. He 
decided that as soon as he was tired he would climb 
up to a branch of the tall, thin tree where he had 
taken refuge before from Patrick and Foggy, but 
all in good time! At present they were all out for 
a lark and he meant that they should enjoy it. He 
dived under bushes, whirled around and around tan- 
talizingly and swayed up on to a wall where next 
summer peaches would be sunning themselves in 
their white paper coverings. He jabbered impu¬ 
dently at his pursuers. 

It was Wisp who caught him and held him gently 
but firmly against her jacket—Wisp, whose tarn had 
blown off and whose hair was a wild red-gold glory 
about her face. 

The carols had been Foggy’s idea. The two 
friends had had tea with Auntie Moneypenny and 
she had told them of the Christmas Eve of her 
youth which seemed to the two children who listened 
to be a time as long ago as the Middle Ages; 

“We lived a good six miles beyond Inniskerry and 
we used to walk in all the way, carrying our lighted 





146 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

candles, and many was the holy song we sung outside 
the doors o’ those we knew in the village,” she had 
said, and her remark had given Foggy his idea. He 
and Wisp knew some carols, especially The First 
Noel; all the children at Jeffers Court knew that 
one. 

Wisp had said she would so love to see the garden 
at 50 Fitzwilliam Square. “I’d like to be ’round 
near ’em without their a-knowin’ of it,” she had 
said. Well, they would go, the two of them. Didn’t 
he know the way outside into the garden? They 
would sing a carol under the windows and then they 
would go away and they would never know who 
it was that had cheered with a bit of song that 
Christmas Eve. 

“Maybe they’ll be after tellin’ their grandchil¬ 
dren some time as how we come to their garden one 
Christmas Eve very long ago in Ireland and sung 
’em a song there where it was all white with snow, 
and then was gone without ever their knowin’ who 
it was,” Wisp had said happily as the two had made 
their way through the wintry streets. 

So it might have been but for Blighty’s escapade. 
When Foggy saw the brown object leaping over the 
snow he could not resist the fun of running after 
him, just as he had done the other morning when 
Patrick had joined him. He changed from a carol 
singer to a monkey chaser in the twinkling of an 
eye and what could Wisp do but follow him! 

It had been glorious fun running through the 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 147 

garden and Wisp’s face still shone with the delight 
of it as she stood with the monkey in her arms, all 
the children crowding about her. What a long, long 
garden it was! The dark, dignified house seemed 
so far away. Under the stars and with its unusual 
film of white it might have been the garden of The 
Snow Queen! This thought was with Wisp as she 
stood there among them all and she did not think a 
snow queen, but The Snow Queen, because she was 
a real person about whom she often thought when 
she was up in Fairy Cottage alone at night. 

Wisp had felt so happy as she ran across the 
garden. What did it matter if she could not see 
those inside the house? She knew that they were 
there and had they not sent her tokens of their 
friendship that very morning? Now as she stood 
among them she was for the moment as one who 
has wakened suddenly from a dream. She had been 
so deep in her thoughts and fancies and it was diffi¬ 
cult for her to realize that this had really happened, 
her being there in the garden with the children. 

She had caught Blighty with one of her lightning 
springs and she held him easily, in fact he put his 
arms around her neck and clung to her as though 
suddenly fearful of the others. 

“It’s Wisp!” exclaimed Christine, running up to 
her and putting her arms around her, thereby 
embracing Blighty at the same time and receiving a 
tap of his paw by way of greeting. 

Patrick began at once to scold his pet. 






148 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“You spoil everything. You always run away just 
when we’re having the most fun!” He tried to speak 
severely, but as a matter of fact he had enjoyed 
the chase enormously. 

“He hasn’t spoiled everything at all. He’s helped 
us to find Wisp,” said Victoria, and the tone of her 
voice was so different from her usual listless drawl 
that they all turned and looked at her. She had 
on her black velvet winter coat and like the others 
had rushed out without a hat. Her soft hair fell 
about her shoulders and there was brightness and 
color in her face, and a happiness about her. Even 
her little brother noticed it, and said: 

“Vic’s standing up for Blighty. Oh ho, Vic! 
You said he was a miserable little beast yesterday,” 
Patrick jumped gleefully around, making dives at 
Blighty, who pretended to be frightened and clung 
all the closer to his captor. 

“Come inside, you and Foggy. Come in and see 
our gifts,” exclaimed Christine, and they all started 
across the garden together, Wisp still carrying the 
monkey and Patrick still urging him to come to his 
shoulder. Christine put her arm around Wisp’s 
waist as she used to walk with her special friend at 
school in America, and on the other side was Vic¬ 
toria, with Beryl and Keith and Foggy just behind 
them. 

“I want to thank you for the dear little box. I’m 
going to have it on my dressing table as long as I 
live and I’m going to keep my little pearl cross and 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 149 

seal ring in it,” Christine whispered to Wisp as 
they walked toward the house. 

“It ain’t me that should be thanked. Oh, Miss 
Christine, how can I be after tellin’ ye what ye’ve 
done for me? The peace and joy in me heart this 
day. Fairy Cottage like a fine little house with it 
havin’ a carpet the color of a rose, and then the 
scarf!” 

Wisp caught her breath as though words failed 
her. She had no time to say more, for they had 
reached the steps which led up to the little balcony 
off the dining room. Miss Peck stood at the win¬ 
dow peering out at them. There was a warm, red, 
welcoming glow from the room and they could see 
the leaping flames of a royal fire in the splendid big 
fireplace. 

Beryl spoke hospitably to Foggy. 

“You must come in and have some of our fun,” 
she urged. 

“Yes, come along, Fog,” shouted Patrick, who 
was very much excited over the events of the day. 
“Come in and see my new cricket bat from old Uncle 
James and, oh, everything!” 

Wisp turned toward Christine. 

“I don’t think as how we’d better, thank you, 
Miss Christine. We—it was just to sing a carol 
for ye that we come,” she said. 

“Do come in! We want you to come, we do 
really! We want it very much.” Victoria touched 
Wisp’s arm as she spoke. “Come,” she said gently. 





150 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Wisp came into the house on Fitzwilliam Square 
at last. She was a little bewildered just at first by 
the lights. At Jeffers Court there were only dim 
flickers at night and during the day the sunshine 
was very shy. It would creep in a little way, but 
then as though it were suddenly frightened it would 
steal off somewhere else. Wisp had often whispered 
to it, begging it to stay. Here in this big house there 
were lights everywhere. The chandelier above the 
dining-room table glittered like a thousand diamonds. 

They all came in through the window, and before 
they were well inside the room Miss Peck lamented 
over them. 

“Dear me, dear me, what ever will happen I 
wonder? All of you out in the snow in thin boots 
and no hats, and Patrick with his weak chest!’’ 

She could not resist their high spirits, however, 
and laughed over their story of Blighty’s antics in 
the garden. Christine pushed Wisp forward gently, 
saying to the governess, “This is the friend I made 
in Saint Stephen’s Green, Pecky dear.” 

Miss Peck smiled kindly and said, “You came to 
give us a Christmas carol, did you, dear? Well, it 
reminded me, hearing Noel under the window, of 
the many times I’ve heard it just that way at home. 
Our village children love the carols, and of course 
they always knew that the vicarage was the place 
where they would be most welcome.” 

“Here’s Foggy Moyne, Miss Peck. He brings 
our meat and he can whistle better than Keith or 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 151 

anybody.” This from Patrick, who felt more or 
less responsible for his friend. 

Foggy’s eyes were more wide open than ever. 
He twirled his cap around and around, but his face 
beamed when Miss Peck said cordially, “What a 
nice voice you have! We want to thank you for 
your singing, and now won’t you have something 
Christmasy to eat? What do you think they would 
like best to have, children?” She turned smilingly 
toward the others as she spoke. 

“Everything! They must have everything,” 
shouted Patrick. 

“Capital idea,” put in Keith. He spoke a little 
stiffly, but he wanted to seem hospitable and he was 
beginning to feel almost as Christmasy as the others. 

Cook had seen them come in, from a crack in the 
dining-room door, and while they had all been talk¬ 
ing together she had been heating things over the 
stove, and the first thing they knew she appeared 
with turkey and other goodies and Wisp and Foggy 
were bidden to partake of them. Victoria and 
Christine sat down at the table with them and Beryl 
and Keith went back and forth from the dining room 
to the library. 

“Let’s play charades after they finish,” suggested 
Beryl, passing the jelly to Foggy. 

“Let’s sing carols, all of us together,” said Chris¬ 
tine, and to the surprise of every one, Keith said: 

“Yes, I say we do!” 

Wisp was too excited to eat. She knew she would 





152 JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

be sorry the next day when she would remember the 
interesting food that she had never seen before 
and would most probably never see again, but she 
could scarcely swallow any of it, and when they saw 
that she was too happy or too shy to eat they did not 
press her to do so. Foggy on the contrary enjoyed 
it all to his heart’s content and sampled a little of 
everything. 

Cook was as interested in the unexpected guests 
as any one. Foggy was a prime favorite with her 
and she meant to see that he had a square meal for 
once in his life. She disappeared with the plum pud¬ 
ding and when she brought it in it had a blue flame 
on the top. 

Foggy was delighted with the plum pudding, but 
found that, after all, he really only wanted a little 
of it for he had been very fond of the turkey. Wisp 
scarcely touched hers but sat looking at the faint 
blue flame and at the prickly bit of holly that adorned 
it. She was wanting something very much, but she 
was too shy to say anything. She wanted with all 
her heart to take something home to Peg and Tin 
and Dawson. 

A little later they all went into the library and 
there they found Miss Peck at the piano, looking 
through a hymnal. Another splendid fire was blaz¬ 
ing away in the library fireplace and the room looked 
even more Christmasy than the dining room, because 
all the presents were scattered about among bright 
ribbons and pieces of tissue paper and tinsel. 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 153 

They showed Wisp everything and told her from 
whom came the different gifts. Foggy was interested 
in the cricket bat and seemed more at home with 
Patrick, in his corner of the room. Wisp sensed it 
all and stowed it away to dream over in Fairy Cot¬ 
tage : The large book-lined room, the soft rugs, the 
velvet hangings at the long windows; holly and 
mistletoe and lights and color. She had been in a 
dream of white and silver in the garden and now 
it was a dream of crimson and gold, and all about 
her was love and good-fellowship. 

She wanted to thank Victoria for the shawl. She 
felt certain now that it was Victoria who had sent 
it, but she realized that Victoria would not be an 
easy person to thank. 

Miss Peck turned around at the piano. “Well, 
we are going to sing some carols I hope,” she said. 

It was some little time before they all finally 
congregated about the piano. Patrick found some¬ 
thing wrong with his imitation moving picture ma¬ 
chine, a small affair sent by an aunt in Yorkshire 
whom he had never seen, and Foggy quite skillfully 
made it right. Beryl had run out to the kitchen 
to thank Cook again for all the pains she had taken 
with dinner and to agree with her that it was a 
blessed thing that Mrs. Mink had a girlhood friend 
in Glasnevin and spent holidays with her. 

At last they all gathered around Miss Peck at 
the piano, Keith a little behind the others, wondering 
what the third-floor dormitory would say if they 




154 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

could see him singing hymns with the children, but 
not minding about it half as much as he would have 
thought he must. 

Adeste Fideles had a fine swing and a glorious 
melody and they enjoyed singing it so much that 
Miss Peck played the last verse over again. She 
was far happier than she had been all day. This 
was Christmas carols and children’s voices. This 
was what she had been missing, playing for them all 
to sing. It was like home, like the many times she had 
played in the little arched-roofed church at home 
and the village choir had sung this same old hymn. 

Patrick sang lustily, waving his hand a little to 
keep time. Miss Peck put her arm around his 
shoulder when they had finished one of the carols. 
Then she turned and looked at Wisp. 

“Don’t you and your friend want to come nearer 
so you can see the words? This one is my favorite 
of all and I want to hear your voices.” 

Wisp came close to her, leaning a little forward, 
studying the page. She told Foggy afterward that 
she never knew whether she sang the words or they 
sang themselves, so great was their beauty. She 
forgot that they did not speak like the other chil¬ 
dren, that they might stumble over the words; she 
forgot everything but the joy at her heart. 

They sang, all of them, even Keith. Cook and 
Hattie, the parlor maid, standing in the doorway, 
hummed the melody although they did not know 
the words. 


i55 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Oh, little town of Bethlehem, 

How still we see thee lie; 

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep 
The silent stars go by. 

Yet in thy dark streets shineth 
The everlasting light; 

The hopes and fears of all the years 
Are met in thee to-night.” 

There was silence in the room for a minute after 
they had finished. Miss Peck closed the book and 
stood up and somewhere a clock struck eleven. 
Foggy spoke to her: 

“Thank you, ma’am. We’ve had a grand evenin’. 
We must be goin’ now.” 

Keith whispered to Beryl, “Why don’t you do up 
something for them to take home to their kid 
friends?” 

Beryl nodded. “Why, of course, we’ll just do 
up a little parcel of fruit and some of the war cake 
and send along the box of chocolates you brought 
over from Uncle James. We’ve had enough sweets. 
I’ll fix a nice box for them right away,” she answered 
in her energetic way, and so when Wisp and Foggy 
went out into the night, they took with them some 
of the Christmas cheer. 

Just before she went to sleep that night Wisp 
looked out of her window up to the sky. “Dear 
Star, I’m happy. I want to tell you that I’ve spent 
this Christmas just as you would wish me to,” she 
said. 




XII. —Nina and a New Plan 

The fact that Keith was enjoying his holidays 
may be judged by a letter which he wrote to an Eton 
friend, at the end of the first week of his sojourn in 
Dublin. 

50 Fitzwilliam Square, 
Dublin, Ireland. 

Dec. 31, 1915. 

Hello, Screw! 

Thanks for watch fob. It’s no end swagger. Thanks 
awfully for asking me home to your place for the last week 
of hols but I’ve got to look after the kids a bit longer over 
here. Better luck later on. 

My train gets in a half hour ahead of yours. Bring tuck 
along with you. Hurrah for grilled sausages at five o’clock 
on the 7th! 

Langsley. 

156 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 157 

Beryl said afterward that the two weeks of the 
holidays were the most peaceful ones of the winter, 
and she was right. They were not the most fasci¬ 
nating or eventful, but there was no doubt that they 
were the least disturbing. 

“Do you think it was at all interesting, meeting 
Nina?” Christine had asked her when she had made 
this remark. 

“Goodness, no! Nina isn’t the least bit interest¬ 
ing. She has absolutely no get-up and get,” answered 
Beryl, using the homely old New England expres¬ 
sion with vigor. “She’s our friend now. I 
mean we’ve accepted her as a friend more through 
pity than anything else, but it’s too bad she’s so 
utterly unoriginal and meek. Will you ever forget 
the New Year’s party?” 

Beryl laughed as she finished speaking and 
although Christine groaned and answered, “Never!” 
she went on slowly, thinking over their funny New 
Year’s Eve, “I don’t know! It was ever so dif¬ 
ferent, anyway. It was the kind of house you read 
about in old-fashioned books!” 

The New Year’s Eve party had come about in 
this wise. A note had come to Miss Peck from 
Uncle James’s friend, Mrs. Witheringhaugh. It 
was a very formal note asking them each and all 
to come to spend New Year’s Eve at her home. 
Her niece, Nina, would be glad to welcome them. 
Miss Peck herself had not gone to the party, but 
had seen them all off in a cab with Keith to look after 





158 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

them. They had all worn their best clothes and 
were looking forward to a festive time. 

Miss Peck had heard about the party from each 
one of her various charges. There was nothing 
about the monotonous evening that she did not 
know. Beryl had been the most vehement in her 
account. 

“It was awful, Pecky! The dullest time I’ve 
ever had. There was no one there but ourselves 
and the niece. The drawing-room was the coldest, 
most unhomelike room; the fire didn’t warm it at 
all. We just sat around and Mrs. Witheringhaugh 
sat there with us all the time. She talked a great 
deal to Keith and he was awfully stiff. She asked 
him questions about school and he blushed the way 
he does sometimes and just said ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ to 
everything. Whenever Mrs. W. looked the other 
way he glared across at Victoria and said, ‘Let’s 
clear out,—not out loud, you know, but we knew 
what he meant! We had tea and thin bread 
and butter and seed cake for refreshments. They 
have a fat old puppy that snaps at every one, even 
Nina!” 

Christine’s version was more cheerful: 

“It was funny, of course, Pecky, sort of like 
something out of a story. Mrs. Witheringhaugh 
is the biggest, solemnest person I ever saw. She 
means well, but she simply doesn’t understand. She 
suggested playing dumb crambo but no one seemed 
to want to. The seed cake was delicious and there 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 159 

was cream with the tea that was so thick it was sort 
of golden colored. I wasn’t a bit bored myself. 
The grounds were so dark and mysterious, and 
do you know, Pecky, it’s the oddest thing, but just 
beyond them is sort of wild, open country. I saw 
it from the upper windows, and Nina says it’s called 
the Rocky Valley. It was dark and dim, late in the 
afternoon; I could only see a sort of open stretch of 
land which looked as though it must be far from 
anywhere and yet it was so near us. If I’m not 
mistaken we’ll think more about the Rocky Valley 
when spring comes along!” 

Christine broached the subject of the Rocky Val¬ 
ley the next afternoon at tea at Mitchell’s. During 
those vacation days they generally planned some 
fun for every afternoon, ending up with tea at their 
favorite tea shop, and that was Mitchell’s. It is a 
low-ceilinged, narrow place beloved by Dublin 
people, and by county families up for a few weeks’ 
change. People used to wide gardens and open 
stretches of country when talking over a prospective 
visit to the city would say: “We’ll have tea at 
Mitchell’s, of course. It’s the only tea shop in 
Dublin!” This isn’t true, of course. They only 
meant that they liked it best of all. 

“What do you suppose there is about Mitchell’s 
that makes people always want to come here?” Beryl 
asked them as they sat, all of them, around a table 
at the tea shop, after a visit to the Zoo. 

“The hot buttered toast,” Keith answered her, 






160 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

passing the plate to Miss Peck, who was rather 
tired after piloting them about. 

Keith had not gone with them to the Zoo. He 
had lunched at Jammet’s, a delightful restaurant, 
with the soldier brother of his school friend, and had 
then done a little “sightseeing” on his own, meeting 
them at Mitchell’s at five. Nina Witheringhaugh 
was there among them, a small, lanky, pale-faced 
girl of fourteen. She had a sharp nose and sandy 
eyelashes and a funny chirpy voice. They had taken 
her into their midst because they felt sorry for the 
dull, lonely life she led, but they were beginning 
to like her for herself. This afternoon she had 
on a neat raincoat and a very unbecoming flappy 
hat. 

She wasn’t quite sure that it could be right to 
be having such a good time. She had not been so 
happy in all her life before. “They used to have 
nice little puffs filled with whipped cream and big 
cakes made in the shape of cauliflowers before the 
war,” chirped Nina, and then seeing Keith looking 
at her, stopped speaking as suddenly as she had 
begun. Keith was so big and serious looking and 
impressive. He did ample justice to the tea and 
toasted war bread, but when he was not eating he sat 
looking straight before him. He had not noticed 
Nina at all, had not heard what she had said. 

He had been spending an hour roaming about 
Christ Church Cathedral. He had scoffed at the 
idea of sightseeing when suggested by Miss Peck, 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 161 

but he had enjoyed the hour alone there in the dim 
old cathedral. Old! Why, it was so old, that 
crypt where he had been for the past hour, that it 
breathed a million secrets, and because some of them 
were secrets of famous warriors it had held Keith 
with a charm that still surrounded him and that took 
his thoughts very far away from a tea shop in the 
twentieth century. No one suspected this and except 
for seeming a little more preoccupied than usual, he 
was the same Keith they had known that morning. 

Strongbow! He had been a soldier. He had not 
let youth stand in his way. He had not been tied 
to the apron strings of a governess and a pack of 
children. Keith ate his fourth piece of toast, 
unmindful of the chatter going on about him. 

Richard de Clare Strongbow! He had seen his 
tomb there in the dark crypt, a crypt as old as time, 
older far than the stately cathedral built above it. 
He had seen the tomb of a soldier, one who had 
marched at the head of his knights and men-at-arms 
and archers! 

“Christine says your aunt’s house is like the house 
of Griselda’s great-aunts in ‘The Cuckoo Clock,’ ” 
remarked Patrick to Nina as the tea progressed. 

Keith did hear this and scowled at his brother, 
and Joan kicked him gently, under the table. Chris¬ 
tine put in hastily: 

“I meant that it’s old-timey and different, and 
that it has curios in the drawing-room as there were 
in the house of Griselda’s great-aunts. It was a 




162 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

fascinating place and very strange things happened 
in it.” 

“Pooh! It was only a fairy-story house,” scoffed 
Patrick. 

“Well, our house isn’t. It’s hateful. It’s the stuf¬ 
fiest, primmest, most disagreeable house on earth, 
and nothing fascinating could ever and ever happen 
in it!” burst out Nina, and she was so in earnest 
about what she said that she forgot her awe of 
Keith and everything else and right there at tea 
at Mitchell’s spoke out some of the emotion that 
she had kept to herself for so long; and none of 
them knew what a relief it was to her to speak out. 
They were all so used to saying anything they chose. 

“You don’t know how often I’ve wished it at the 
bottom of the Red Sea. It’s been lessons and walks, 
walks and lessons. Fat old squint-eyed Beauty, the 
poodle and aunt, and governesses coming by the day 
and no one to play with! Poor aunt has asked chil¬ 
dren out to see me, but the house is so sort of gloomy 
and they almost never came again. I was always 
so shy until I knew you all, but this last week I’ve 
been so happy! Oh, yoil’ve been so good to let me 
go about with you. You will come again to Hawk 
House, won’t you?” She looked pleadingly from 
one to the other of them and they all answered 
that they would, of course, all except Keith, who 
muttered something that might be taken for yes or 
no. He was annoyed, for he could not imagine how 
any one could come out and express their emotions 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 163 

in a public place. He could not see how they could 
express them anyway. It was beyond his under¬ 
standing. 

Aunt Witheringhaugh’s maid came for Nina in 
an old-fashioned coupe drawn by a fat horse which 
was driven by a disdainful-looking coachman. She 
waved good-by from the cab window, gazing after 
them as though she could not bear to see the last 
of them. 

“There’s no use in talking, we must do all we can 
for Nina. She needs us and it’s our duty to see 
that she has a different sort of life. It’s got to be 
done. We must just let her see what a good time 
is and that she must learn to think for herself and 
not be bamboozled by the aunt,” Beryl said firmly 
as they all walked up Grafton Street toward home. 

It seemed quite enticing, put this way. She was 
a problem, a duty, and as they talked it over they 
decided that it would be fun. 

“We can think of her as a princess who is shut 
up in a dreary castle, with an ogress watching over 
her,” suggested Christine, who was immediately set 
upon by Beryl. 

“There you go again, Christine, talking as though 
you were six!” she exclaimed, and they all laughed, 
even Keith, but Christine did not mind. 

They continued the talk about Nina as they sat 
about the library table that same evening. Keith 
was deep in a book. He was frowning and absorbed. 
It was his Latin lesson for the first day of school 







164 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

which would be the day after to-morrow. He was 
leaving on the afternoon boat the next day. He 
had had a good deal of trouble over his Latin the 
last term and had meant to go over some of the back 
part thoroughly and to know the new lesson per¬ 
fectly, and here it was the last night of his stay 
in Dublin and he had not so much as opened a 
book. 

“Mrs. Witheringhaugh came to see me yesterday 
when you were all out. She wanted to know if it 
would be possible to make some arrangement so 
that her niece could have lessons with us!” Miss 
Peck smiled as she glanced from one to the other 
of them. “I said it would be agreeable as far as I 
was concerned, but that I would have to consult 
you all.” 

They all agreed that it was the only thing to be 
done and fitted in with the idea of cheering Nina 
up and giving her new interests, so Miss Peck said 
she would write to Nina’s aunt that evening. 

They all waved Keith good-by from Kingstown 
pier and watched the brilliantly lighted boat become, 
as soon as it left the dock, a dim bleakness that 
seemed to melt into the sea and sky. Victoria 
looked very much as she had the first evening when 
she and Joan and Patrick had arrived, and in spite 
of her knowing that Keith would not like it she 
could not resist throwing her arms around his neck 
and clinging to him. He patted her on the shoulder, 
saying: “There, there. Cut the weeping act,” but 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 165 

he did kiss her good-by and he said with evidently 
forced cheerfulness: 

‘‘Spring will be here before we know it. Then 
we’ll all have some rare old times. How about it, 
old sport ?” This last was addressed to Patrick, who 
with Blighty on his shoulder was looking a little 
solemn himself. 

“I’ll remind Miss Peck not to forget about the 
cake she promised to have sent for you,” was Pat¬ 
rick’s parting remark, and even as he waved good-by 
to them Keith frowned, though he could not help 
but smile. Miss Peck smiled, too, and it was evident 
that she would not forget the cake. 

That night Christine stood alone at the library 
window, looking out. She was thinking of their 
new acquaintance with Nina and Nina’s delight in 
knowing them, and as she thought about it a lump 
came to Christine’s throat and tears to her eyes. 
Several of them rolled down her cheeks. 

Nina was their friend, was to have lessons with 
them and more or less share their life. Ah! but 
Nina could not help them to find adventure. Nina 
could not even see the romance in living near a mys¬ 
terious place like the Rocky Valley! She could 
never, never make the fairies seem near. Nina could 
come among them, but Wisp, like something elu¬ 
sive, shadowy, was just beyond them! Wisp was 
not one of them! 

It was two weeks since Christmas Eve when they 
had all sung carols and when they had all seemed so 




166 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

close together. Since then they had seen or heard 
nothing of Wisp except that Foggy had told Patrick 
in his cheery way that she was “As fit as a fiddle!” 
Christine had thought of Wisp and had wanted to 
see her, but she had let herself drift along with the 
others, enjoying herself from day to day as they 
did. She was thoroughly tired of holiday making 
and she wanted her friend more than she could say. 

She knew, too, that Victoria had thought of 
Wisp because she had come to her a few days before 
and said, “The little girl of Jeffers Court, Wisp, 
we must not forget her!” And although neither of 
them had said so they had both known that they 
were waiting for Keith to go. Christine, as she 
stood by the window thinking of this, was ashamed 
of it. They had cared about what Keith would 
think and say. Christmas Eve they had all seemed 
so happy there about the piano singing carols. Keith 
himself had suggested that they send some Christ¬ 
mas cheer home to Wisp’s friends, but that had been 
because it was Christmas Eve. 

She had spoken to Miss Peck one day soon after 
Christmas about Wisp, had said just a little to the 
effect that she wanted to see her. Miss Peck had 
answered in her gentle way, “Yes, we really must 
do something for the child. She seems a bright 
little thing. Let us look over your clothes and see 
if there aren’t some things that would do for her!” 
Miss Peck had meant to be kind, but she had not 
understood; no one understood but Victoria. It was 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 167 

not just clothes that one could give to Wisp. It was 
love and friendship and companionship. Wisp her¬ 
self could give in return so much of all that was 
lovely and different. As she stood there by the 
window Christine realized that a friendship with 
Wisp could not come easily, that it would mean 
courage and patience, and she resolved that come 
what might, she would be loyal and she would make 
a fight for Wisp to have the life that was hers just 
as much as it was theirs. 

That night when they were all sitting by the fire 
in Victoria’s and Joan’s room, Christine voiced some 
of her thoughts that she had had by the window. 
Beryl was sitting on the rose fire cushion close to 
the fire and Joan on the bed brushing her short, 
stubby hair vigorously. Victoria made quite a pic¬ 
ture in her soft red silk kimono, her long hair falling 
about her shoulders. She came over from the win¬ 
dow and sat down beside Christine on the rug. 

“I’ve been thinking about Wisp and I want you 
all to know that if she will have me I want to be 
her friend, I mean her real friend, not just see her 
once in a while, but often.” After she had spoken 
Christine waited to hear what the others would say, 
brushing her own yellow locks meanwhile. She was 
sure that Victoria wanted to know Wisp, but the 
others, Beryl and Joan, would they understand? 
They did not know Wisp. She might seem to them 
just a very ragged, untidy, poor little girl whom 
one would be kind to, of course; a little girl who 





168 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

lived in a slum tenement in the midst of poverty of 
the like they had never dreamed. 

Beryl spoke before any one else had a chance: 

“You are quaint, Christine! Why, the child 
would be scared to pieces. I mean, to come here 
and really know us. Mrs. Mink says Jeffers Court, 
where they live, she and the butcher boy, is one 
of the worst tenements in Dublin. You are so very 
young in some ways, Christine.” 

Victoria put in a word next, and Beryl was so 
astonished that she sat, hair brush in hand, gazing 
at her lovely cousin. Beryl did not know Victoria 
so well as yet and though she would not have ad¬ 
mitted it, she admired her very much, and she had 
a great deal of respect for her opinion. Perhaps it 
was because Victoria was different from herself 
or from any of the American girls whom she 
knew. She was impressed deeply by Victoria’s next 
words: 

“I think you are wrong perhaps, Beryl. Wisp 
isn’t just a tenement girl. She is different. Could 
you not see that? She has something—what is it? 
Something that is hard to describe. A few people 
in the world have it, very few. I do not know the 
word to describe it, but one that a little expresses; 
it is genius!” 

Victoria half closed her eyes as she spoke, an odd 
way she had of doing and for a moment looked 
past Beryl as though trying to think how best she 
could explain to her what she meant. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 169 

“Foggy’s a nice boy, too. He’s so good to 
Patrick! He told him that he and Wisp had been 
friends since they were nine. He thinks Wisp is 
the brightest girl in the world,” volunteered Joan. 

“There wouldn’t be any use in her doing lessons 
with us, because she wouldn’t really know what 
they’re about. She can read and write and she 
knows some arithmetic and geography. She told 
me so,” mused Christine, glad indeed that Victoria 
was so absolutely on her side and delighted at the 
way she had spoken of Wisp. 

“I know what we’ll do! We’ll teach her! She 
has a class at Jeffers Court, why shouldn’t we have 
one here? We’ll each teach her what we know and 
as I imagine we all know different things, she will 
really learn a good deal!” 

“What do you mean? What class does she teach 
at Jeffers Court?” demanded Beryl. Victoria, after 
a look at Christine, told the two other girls about 
the visit to Wisp’s abode, how she and Christine 
had stood in the shadow of Jeffers Court and listened 
to Wisp read the poem of the lamb. 

Victoria could not have found a better way to 
arouse the girls’ interest. Joan knew and loved the 
poem of the lamb and was all eagerness to hear 
about the funny class at Jeffers Court. Beryl did 
not want to be left out of anything, and finding that 
Christine and Victoria had had adventures that she 
knew nothing about, was ready enough to join in 
any that might be forthcoming. Moreover, the 


170 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

idea of the school appealed to her and also that 
of having one at 50 Fitzwilliam Square. 

They talked for some time and it was unanimously 
decided that Miss Peck and every one else of the 
household must be kept in ignorance of what they 
intended to do. The governess was a dear, but she 
would not understand. She would be glad to help 
Wisp, but she would not think that she could allow 
them to have a slum child as their intimate friend. 
She would feel that their parents would not think 
she was doing her duty by them. Grown-ups did 
not always understand. 

‘‘Mother would if she really knew Wisp. Mother 
would want us to do it, I know,” said Victoria. 

“Where can we go? Why, of course they’ll find 
out the whole thing,” said Joan. 

Beryl shook her head. 

“No they won’t, Joan. They’ll never know any¬ 
thing about it. There is a secret staircase and a 
secret room in this house and that is where we shall 
have our school for Wisp.” 



XIII.— Flowers and Jeffers Court 

Wisp knew little of the doings of the children on 
the Square the two weeks following Christmas. 
Foggy would report all that he knew when he came 
home from the butcher shop late in the afternoon. 
He went every morning to the Fitzwilliam Square 
house, but it was not often that he saw any of the 
children, and if any it was always Patrick. 

One morning, however, Christine had run into 
the kitchen and had caught him just as he had put 
his package of meat on the table and was turning 
away. She had asked for Wisp and had sent her her 
love. 

At Jeffers Court things were not very cheerful, 
for so many people had bad colds. It was just as 
171 







172 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

though, now that the happy Christmas time was over, 
every one thought they must be miserable for a 
while. This was a stupid thing to think and you 
may be sure that Wisp was not one of the foolish 
thinkers. She was so busy that she had little time 
to think at all during the day, and at night when 
she did have time and would sit looking at the sky, 
she would weave the fancies that she so loved, and 
when she saw the star she would tell it things, but 
there were only a few nights during that fortnight 
that the star appeared. 

Wisp had such quick feet and willing hands that 
she was wanted by her different friends at the Court 
to go on errands. When O’Sullivan Finney fell 
down one whole flight of stairs and broke his arm 
two days after Christmas, Wisp held his hand while 
the doctor set the arm, and she let O’Sullivan hold 
on to her just as hard as he could. She talked to 
him in school-mistressy tones and as he was quite in 
awe of her he behaved, on the whole, much better 
than any one who knew him at all would have 
expected. 

One morning Foggy shouted up the ladder as he 
was starting off on his rounds. 

“Mrs. Gruffy says as how Molly wants to see ye. 
She do be bad with a cold,” he announced. 

Wisp came out and sat on the ladder and talked 
for a moment with Foggy. It was toward the end 
of the second week and some of the joy she had felt 
in her heart since the Christmas Eve carol singing 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 173 

had left her. She knew that it had not really gone 
for good. It could not do that. It was simply 
hiding around the corner and would peep out at her 
any moment. 

“I’ve an idea of somethin’ we’ll be after doin’ 
soon. I don’t know why I haven’t thought on it 
before. It’s for ye and Peg to come for a ride in 
the butcher cart one day!” Foggy was so pleased 
with this idea that his round face beamed from ear 
to ear as it always did when he was in good spirits. 

“Shure, and that will be fun, Foggy,” Wisp 
answered heartily, not wanting him to think her 
down-hearted. She waved good-by to him as he 
went on down the stairs. 

Wisp had no chance to go riding in the butcher’s 
cart with Foggy for several days, because Molly 
Gruffy, when she went down to the next floor to see 
her, croaked out that she would not be able to sell 
her flowers for a few days, and if she liked, Wisp 
could do it for her and could have half the profits 
after the flowers had been paid for. Molly bought 
her flowers from the market and the market from 
a farmer, who raised them under glass during the 
winter months. Wisp was glad indeed to do as 
Molly wished. It was very seldom that a girl as 
young as she could have the opportunity, for the 
older ones were careful to keep the trade they had, 
and Wisp and Peg would not have had the money 
to buy flowers to sell no matter how much they may 
have wished to do so. 


174 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Wisp had gone errands for the small shop people 
on George’s Street and had often earned an extra 
penny or so by carrying hurry parcels for the baker 
on the corner nearest the Court, but she had never 
before sold flowers in the street and her heart beat 
high with excitement as she stood on the corner of 
Dawson Street and the green, a tray of glowing 
beauty in her hands. 

She was so used to going without a hat that she 
had forgotten her Christmas tarn, and her hair 
flapped in gleaming brightness about her eager up¬ 
turned face. The button which she had so pains¬ 
takingly sewed on to her jacket had come off, and 
as usual it was held at the throat by the one faithful 
button that had done good service for a long time. 
Her jacket waved gayly behind her in the sharp 
wind. She had hurried to the market to buy her 
flowers, fearful that the best ones would be gone 
before she arrived, but it seemed as though they 
had waited for her, because to her they were so 
precious. 

Roses, violets, pansies, button chrysanthemums! 
She would have liked to gloat over them quietly up in 
Fairy Cottage. She did not want to part with them 
for pennies, even though pennies were very good 
things to have! 

‘‘Roses, violets, pansies,” she called out gayly and 
she had a smile for every customer. She was so 
little and so thin that she was almost hidden by her 
big tray of blossoms. 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 175 

At noon she had sold all the violets and several 
bunches of bright red and gold chrysanthemums. 
She was beginning to be hungry, and now that the 
first excitement was over, a little tired, when sud¬ 
denly at her side was a familiar voice: 

“Ma sent this along to ye. She’s home because 
of Tin bein’ so bad with his cold. She ain’t goin’ 
to char till Saturday.” Peg put a small package on 
the tray and surveyed the passers-by speculatively. 

“Ain’t that decent o’ Mrs. Casey? Tell her so 
with my love. Ain’t the flowers grand, Peg? Say, 
Peg, we’ll be a-goin’ out first thing there’s a bit o’ 
spring anywheres, won’t we?” Wisp spoke very 
eagerly and her eyes seemed to shine through tears. 

“Shure, we’ll go! Do ye like it, Kathleen, sellin’ 
the flowers?” asked Peg, never quite sure what her 
friend would feel about things. 

Wisp was silent a moment thinking over the 
question. They sat down in a quiet doorway and 
Wisp began to eat slowly the lunch that Mrs. Casey 
had sent her. It was a piece of cold sausage between 
two thick slices of bread. The bread was tough 
and lumpy, but at best bread was not too appetizing 
in those war days, and for Jeffers Court people it 
was the worst of all. 

Wisp enjoyed the sandwich because she was 
hungry. She ate it in a leisurely way, and she an¬ 
swered Peg before she finished it. First she shook 
her head. Then she said: 

“No I don’t, Peg, not to do steady. Oh, Peg, 






176 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Peg! do you mind last spring? Seems like I wake 
up every night now thinkin’ spring’s here, thinkin’ 
o’ the Rocky Valley and seein’ the mist come up 
over the city and them baby forgit-me-nots we found 
last year.” Wisp looked off across the swarms of 
fast moving people, the lorries and groups of sol¬ 
diers, policemen at the trams, and motors and out¬ 
side cars, all that made that busy corner of a city 
during the winter months of a war. “I do be fair 
daft for the sight o’ somethin’ green and growin’,” 
she said half to herself and half to Peg. 

As she stood on the wind-swept corner during the 
rest of the afternoon, Wisp wondered if among the 
many passers-by she would by any chance see the 
children from Fitzwilliam Square, but the day wore 
itself away, and when she left her post she had 
not had so much as a glimpse of any of them. It 
had been fascinating, though, to think that perhaps 
she might see them. She scanned groups of girls, 
especially if they were with a governessy-looking 
person like Miss Peck, but though several times she 
saw yellow braids that might be Christine’s they 
always turned out to belong to some one else. 

The next day she did see one of them, and it was 
Keith. She was standing on the corner of College 
Green with the gray buildings of Trinity College 
back of her. Her tray was nearly empty, for in spite 
of the war and the bleakness of that January after¬ 
noon, many people were glad to stop for a little 
bunch of something bright and fragrant, and several 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 177 

wounded soldiers in convalescent homes had one of 
Wisp’s carefully arranged bouquets lying by his 
pillow that day. 

Keith was on the opposite side of the street, but 
he saw Wisp. He recognized her by the bright 
flapping of her hair. He pulled off his cap to her as 
he went on his way to Mitchell’s where he met the 
others for tea. He did not mention to them that 
he had seen Wisp. He could not adjust himself to 
their all being acquainted with a funny little slum 
girl who sold flowers. 

On her way home that night with her empty tray 
Wisp met the Old Man of Johnson’s Court. He 
was a very old man indeed, and he had a kindly face 
and smile. Wisp knew him well and stopped for 
a word with him. She put a copper on his basket 
and would not take any of the wares he offered 
her for sale, but because she did not want to make 
him feel that she was giving him charity she 
said: 

“I was a-wantin’ of ye to share me good day.” 
Then she told him about his old friend, Auntie 
Moneypenny, assuring him that in spite of the cold, 
auntie’s rheumatism was better than it had been the 
winter before. She had a long chat with the Old 
Man of Johnson’s Court and after stopping at a 
little shop for two buns and a pint bottle of milk, 
she went on to Jeffers Court. 

The next day Molly was able to go on with her 
own flower trade and Wisp spent the afternoon in 




178 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

house-cleaning. She scoured Fairy Cottage. She 
put down the rose bath mat which made such a 
splendid rug. She put up a tiny curtain made of 
pink and white cheesecloth at the hole in the wall. 
She strung it on a string and put a nail in at each end. 
She washed her shelf and put all her treasures in a 
neat row, the poetry book, the brown paper copy 
books in which she kept the records of her Jeffers 
Court pupils and a few odds and ends, including 
three white handkerchiefs with colored borders, and 
she kept the wonderful shawl in a box in Auntie 
Moneypenny’s room, along with the few pieces of 
clothing that she owned. 

Cleaning house is energetic business and she was 
resting for a few moments when a voice reached her 
from the stairway. It was Peg’s. 

“Ma’s had the doctor for Tin, the same one as 
came to see Auntie Moneypenny last winter, the 
one from the dispensary. He says as how one of 
us must be sittin’ up all night to give him his medi¬ 
cine !” As she spoke Peg’s voice sounded so sleepy 
that it did not look as though she would be the one 
to do it. 

Wisp took up the poetry book from off the shelf 
and the little black and white shawl that auntie had 
given her from its hook by the door, and then she 
climbed down the ladder. 

“I’ve been cleanin’ house most o’ the afternoon,” 
she said as they went down the stairs together. “It 
looks fine and grand if it is me own place,” she 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 179 

went on, and there was pride in her voice as she 
spoke. 

“It do be a grand house. We ain’t had a party 
for a good while now,” answered Peg as they stepped 
cautiously in the half darkness. There were places 
where the stairs were broken and it would not do 
to fall down the steep flights. 

“Maybe when Tin gets well I’ll have a party. 
Shure, I’ll have to be a-keepin’ o’ me word, and I 
was after promisin’ O’Sullivan I’d have one when 
his arm was on the mend,” replied Wisp. And Peg 
said, “O’Sullivan Finney don’t deserve no party, arm 
or no arm. So lazy as he be in school and so dis¬ 
obligin’.” 

“I’d have him because I promised; and Foggy and 
ye and Tin and Dawson, and maybe—” Wisp hesi¬ 
tated and then she thought of the warm, happy 
brightness into which she and Foggy had been wel¬ 
comed Christmas Eve. “Maybe I’ll have the Kin- 
sales, the two girls. They ain’t never come and 
they do be a-wantin’ to. Some will have to sit on 
the ladder and on the top o’ the stairs,” she went on. 

They had reached the door leading to the Casey 
abode and stood talking there together before going 
in. From the dark street came a frail flicker of a 
street light and the heavy sound of motor lorries 
passing in the distance. Wisp looked off for a 
moment at the shadowy night beyond them. “Do 
ye know, Peg, I do be thinkin’ the city’s queer these 
days,” she said. They stood there, the two friends, 


180 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

in the grimy courtyard. Then they went on inside 
to Peg’s home. 

Mrs. Casey greeted Wisp cordially. “Come in, 
me dear, and glad I am to see ye. It do be a bad 
time for the likes o’ us. Ain’t it awful, darlin’, to 
have Tin so bad with a cold? Croup is what the 
doctor said, but he ain’t too bright from the looks 
o’ him. I ain’t goin’ to char till Saturday and we’ll 
be livin’ on me Christmas tips till then.” Mrs. 
Casey picked up her Sunday bonnet, black, with a 
nodding rose, which lay on a table between a dish 
of treacle, a dark molasses-like mixture, and a loaf 
of bread. Mrs. Casey had been to a funeral. 

Tin was better, but the doctor’s orders must be 
obeyed. Some one must sit up all night and watch 
him. 

“Me charin’ all day, and Peg going off to sleep 
if ye look at her!” wailed Mrs. Casey. 

“I’ll sit up with Tin, Mrs. Casey. I ain’t sleepy 
and there’s a good many things I want to think 
about,” volunteered Wisp. 

“Bless ye, now ain’t that the kind thing of her 
to be after sayin’, Peg? But I’d not let ye, child,” 
Mrs. Casey answered, and, in spite of her words, 
looking very much relieved. 

“It would be me pleasure. You and Peg go right 
to bed,” Wisp answered, drawing the shawl close 
about her and sitting down close to Tin’s cot, her 
book in her hand. 

“Shure, darlin’, it’s a fine girl ye are and I was 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 181 

after tellin’ Minnie Kinsale so the other day. I 
says to her, ‘Ye’ll not find another girl like Kath¬ 
leen. She’s worth all yer own brats put together.’ ” 
Mrs. Casey was making rapid preparations for bed 
as she spoke and soon both she and Peg were sound 
asleep, but I do not think they were as much in the 
land of dreams as was Wisp herself, though she sat 
bolt upright on a stool by Tin’s cot, her shawl about 
her shoulders, her book lying on the floor at her 
feet. 

It was very quiet except for the wind, which 
always seemed to be talking around Jeffers Court, 
and the scuttle of rats in the walls. 

As she sat there tired from her house-cleaning, 
but not sleepy, Wisp little knew that her friends in 
Fitzwilliam Square were making plans for her. 
Wisp was weaving a story, and since she told that 
story to a group of children whom by this time you 
know well, on a fairy hill at the first hint of spring, 
I’ll wait and let you have it then. Now you can 
only see her sitting there, her hands clasped about 
her knees, listening to something beyond the wind, 
to something which perhaps was fairy music. 







XIV.— The Apple Tart Woman 

Two evenings later Foggy ran all the way up to 
the foot of the ladder leading to Fairy Cottage. He 
had come two and even three steps at a time, and 
when Wisp first appeared he could only puff and 
smile, holding out an envelope. She ran down the 
ladder and, taking the note from him, sat down on 
the lowest rung and opened it. Then she read it 
out loud to her friend. 

Dear Wisp: 

We wish very much to talk with you, as we have some 
thing to suggest. Some one will see Foggy when he comes 
in the morning and will you send word by him if you can 
come and see us at eight o’clock to-morrow evening? With 
love, 

Christine Langsley, Joan Langsley, 

Victoria Langsley, Beryl Langsley, 

Nina Witheringhaugh. 

182 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 183 

“Ain’t it nice, Foggy?—kind o’ mystery like.” 
Wisp read it over again to herself, repeating out 
loud the words, “we have something to suggest.” 
Something—what a fascinating sound it had—some¬ 
thing; why, it might be almost anything. What 
could it be? 

Foggy had no idea and so could not help Wisp to 
solve the mystery. “It looks to me as though maybe 
they had some nice plan. They’re awful nice young 
ladies,” Foggy said cheerfully. 

Auntie Moneypenny was excited over the note and 
said she felt sure something was going to happen. 
“They like ye and they want to know ye, and they’re 
writin’ to plan out somethin’. Ye can wear my lace 
collar me husband gave me on the day we was 
betrothed when ye go to-morrow night,” she said 
to Wisp that evening. 

“I ain’t got nothin’ good enough to go with it, 
auntie,” Wisp answered, but she spoke happily and 
she smiled at the old woman as she came and sat 
on the stool beside her. 

Tin was his own man again, running about the 
courtyard and as sunny as ever, but auntie had had 
a twinge of her old enemy, rheumatism, and though 
she would not admit it, had had some very lonely 
days while Wisp was out selling flowers or helping 
to take care of Tin. 

The afternoon before there had been a consulta¬ 
tion at 50 Fitzwilliam Square. Beryl had phoned to 
Hawk House and had asked Mrs. Witheringhaugh 





184 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

if Nina might stay on for most of the afternoon as 
they wanted to talk something over. Nina came 
for lessons and generally stayed for lunch. This 
had happened for three days, the maid appearing 
soon after lunch to take Nina home. Mrs. Wither- 
inghaugh said that she would come herself for Nina 
and would be glad of a little talk with Miss Peck 
if convenient for her. 

“We must get together directly lunch is over. 
Now, one thing must be decided right away. Shall 
we or shall we not tell Patrick? If we do tell him 
he will have to know, of course, about the secret 
staircase and room, and that’s a bad plan. He is 
liable to forget and come out with something at any 
time. It would mean having him around all the 
time, but worst of all it would mean Blighty all 
the time and he jabbers so we simply wouldn’t be 
able to hear ourselves think!” 

Beryl said all this to the girls after Miss Peck 
had left the schoolroom and before the gong went 
for lunch. 

“I say that we do not have Paddy. He’s too 
young to be of any help about teaching Wisp and as 
you say he might let out the secret without meaning 
to. He spends so much time in the garden and 
they want him to be outdoors as much as possible. 
He won’t miss us at all. He would rather play 
with Blighty than any one,” said Victoria, and they 
all knew then that Patrick would be left out. 

“I don’t know,” objected Joan. “He might have 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 185 

something to teach Wisp. He knows several Indian 
songs and one or two juggling tricks, easy ones of 
course.” 

Beryl raised her eyebrows at this. Christine and 
Joan were both so young at times that it was dis¬ 
tressing. 

“I think we can manage very well without him, 
Joan,” Victoria answered in her most grown-up 
manner, and the matter was settled then and 
there. 

“We can have the room ready by day after to¬ 
morrow, so that’s the time we’d better set for her 
to come—hush, here’s Miss Peck and there’s the 
gong. We can talk about it all after lunch.” 

Later they stealthily climbed the secret staircase 
to the funny room with the sound of dripping water 
from a cistern in the corner. It did not look very 
prepossessing that afternoon. There was no doubt 
about that. It was fairly warm, for it was above a 
part of the kitchen. There was no great danger, 
however, in being heard from below because the 
walls and floors were so thick. It would be best 
not to talk over loud, Beryl informed them as soon 
as they reached the room. 

“We might forget and laugh too loud or some¬ 
thing. Then it’s possible Cook could hear us, but 
of course she never would give us away if she knew 
we wanted all this kept a secret. Cook is such a 
dear,” said Beryl. 

“It’s a dingy-looking place. Goodness, I wonder 


186 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

if we can ever make it look like anything human,” 
commented Christine. 

Beryl sighed. “If you’ll only give me time, Chris¬ 
tine ! It is going to be all right. I promise you 
that,” she answered, measuring the window with 
the tape measure which had been so much in evidence 
when they first came over to the house. “This is a 
very dark day and one of the coldest we’ve had all 
winter. I wish now I hadn’t brought any of you 
up here until I’d fixed it up a bit. I have some chintz 
left over and it will do for cushions for the two 
chairs I found in the storeroom. There’s that stool 
in the corner; there will be enough of the curtain 
material for a cushion for that,” went on Beryl. 

“What about a table?” asked Nina, deeply inter¬ 
ested in as much as she understood. She had never 
seen Wisp, and though the situation had been 
explained to her after a fashion, she was a little 
vague about it all. She was devoted to Beryl and 
willing to do anything that she wished. She was so 
happy to be among them all and could hardly believe 
in her own good fortune. She was so changed 
already that the grim inhabitants of Hawk House 
hardly knew her. 

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think we can do. 
There’s an old table in the laundry. I’ve been 
quietly looking around the last day or so and I’ve 
discovered it. It’s off in a corner by itself and 
there is nothing on it but some boxes and a pail of 
old paint. A tub that isn’t used, a broken one, is in 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 187 

front of it and I don’t think any one will notice if 
we bring it up here. We can cover it with a piece 
of oilcloth; nail it down, you know. It will make 
a dandy school table. I bought the oilcloth at Mc- 
Byrney’s to-day.” 

“You’re splendid, Beryl, the way you think of 
everything,” Victoria said approvingly. As it looked 
at present, the room seemed dismal beyond words 
to Victoria. 

“Well, that’s easy for me; planning I mean. I’ll 
bring up my books, but the rest of you will have to 
see to your own. I’m strong on arithmetic and I’m 
going to study up a bit, though I suppose she is ever 
so behind in it,” answered Beryl. 

They crept softly down the stairs and, as it was 
still early, went on out into the garden talking over 
their plans and making new ones. 

The next afternoon Wisp took Molly’s place for 
an hour with the tray of flowers and she stationed 
herself again at the corner of College Green. It 
was her favorite corner of all Dublin and it gave 
her a thrill to be standing there in the midst of all 
the rush and bustle. It was a bad day for flower¬ 
selling, perhaps because it was so cold, and Wi 3 ]p 
was disappointed that the gay array on the tray dis¬ 
appeared so slowly. She would have loved to keep 
them just to enjoy their fragrance and their beauty if 
it had not been for Molly, but poor Molly was bad 
indeed with her cold and needed all the pennies she 
could get. 


18 8 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Wisp hardly felt the cold, so busy was she with 
her thoughts. That evening she was to go to Fitz- 
william Square. She had sent a note by Foggy to say 
that she would come. “We have something to 
suggest.” What fun it was to think of those words, 
and what did they mean? 

“I’ll have a bunch of roses, sweet wee things 
that they be,” said a cheery voice at her side. She 
looked up and there standing before her stood the 
“Apple Tart Woman,” as she and Peg had called 
her. The same red, smiling, kindly face and com¬ 
fortable cloak! 

Wisp spoke before she knew what she said, so 
surprised was she at seeing her. 

“You’re the Apple Tart Woman,” she said, and 
then she colored with confusion. “We called ye 
that after ye was so good to us, givin’ us the fine 
tart that Tinnyhinch Casey knocked out o’ your 
hand,” exclaimed Wisp, picking out the finest 
bunch of roses and handing it to the woman with a 
smile. 

“Bless your heart, dear. I remember well. I’ve 
a farm up near the Rocky Valley and I was in a 
rush to get to the market for I’ve a friend there who 
drives me out. Welcome you were indeed to the 
tart, dear.” The Apple Tart Woman put her coins 
down on the tray and started to turn away. Then 
she looked back at Wisp. 

“You’re young to be selling flowers, aren’t you?” 
she asked. 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 189 

“I’m fourteen, ma’am. I’m sellin’ these for Molly 
Gruffy who has a cold,” Wisp answered her. 

“Do you live near here, dear?” asked the woman. 

“At Jeffers Court on Cuff Street near the green, 
ma’am,” said Wisp, and then she added, “I know 
the Rocky Valley. I know it well. I go out there 
in the spring.” She gave her head an emphatic little 
shake. “There’s many a place there I know well,” 
she added. 

The woman in the gray cloak looked at her in 
astonishment. 

“I never!” she exclaimed. She looked at Wisp 
for a moment in silence. “When you’re up that way 
again and you see a white house with a barn back of 
it painted green, come and see me. I’ll give you 
another tart maybe,” she said. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Wisp answered her, and she 
looked after her as her gray cloak disappeared in 
the crowd. Then an odd thing happened. She 
wanted so very much to see the Apple Tart Woman 
again that she almost ran after her through the 
crowd. 

She thought about her on the way home and after 
she reached Fairy Cottage. She thought about her 
as she brushed her dress and washed her face and 
hands and combed out the tangles in her bright hair. 
Fairy Cottage with all its fresh house-cleaned 
appearance, its Christmas rose and white bath mat 
that made such a splendid rug, did not seem quite 
as homey as it had before. A white house with a 


190 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

green barn on the edge of the Rocky Valley! Rooms 
and steps and doors and real windows, a cow per¬ 
haps and of course a cat, and flowers, flowers, 
flowers. 

She sat down on the floor of Fairy Cottage (you 
could not stand upright in it) and put her face close 
to the clean cheesecloth curtain. To think that for 
one moment she had thought that any place could 
be as dear to her ever as was Fairy Cottage, any 
window as fascinating as the hole that Foggy had 
cut for her, the hole that showed her the sun and 
the stars and sometimes the moon. No, nothing 
could ever, ever be as much her very own, as full 
of dreams as Fairy Cottage. 



XV. —In the Secret Room 

Cook peered out of the kitchen window, listening. 
She thought she heard voices and she could not 
understand from whence they came. Cook was timid 
and she knew that except for the children she was 
alone in the house. Miss Peck had gone to a lecture 
on Red Cross work and Mrs. Mink after a strenuous 
day of directing and scolding and commanding, in 
other words after a day of house-cleaning, had gone 
for an evening with her dear friend in Glasnevin. 

Cook listened a moment longer, and then, certain 
that she must have been mistaken, shut down the 
window and went on to the little room off the kitchen 
to finish a red and blue checked blouse which she 
was making, and which she expected to wear at an 
evening party of a friend at the end of the week. 

191 


















192 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Beryl knew that Miss Peck was going to the lec¬ 
ture and that is the reason she set the time for 
Wisp to come. It was doubly fortunate that Mrs. 
Mink was to be out and the children were sure that 
all would be clear sailing. Christine had seen Foggy 
in the morning and had cautioned him not to tell 
Patrick anything about anything that Wisp might 
tell him and he promised faithfully not to do so. 
Joan was not very pleased at her brother being left 
out of the secret and the fun and said so several 
times. Victoria quite snubbed her finally. 

‘‘You must realize, Joan, that Paddy is only a 
baby. Why he’s hardly ten and moreover, he’s a 
boy. He wouldn’t have the slightest interest in what 
we are trying to do for Wisp and he would be a great 
bother. You’ve been with him so much that you are 
really too childish for words yourself!” Joan did 
not say any more about Patrick’s joining them after 
that, but she still wanted him and she still thought 
that the others were a little selfish not to let him 
join in. 

“If he doesn’t know anything about it he can’t 
mind not being in it,” Beryl said to her as they 
waited for Wisp’s arrival that evening. 

“Isn’t it splendid that Pecky took him with her? 
He will be bored before the lecture is over, espe¬ 
cially as Blighty isn’t with him, but he seemed to 
want so much to go. I guess it was just to be out¬ 
doors at night,” whispered Beryl as they waited at 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 193 

the small side door leading from the garden into 
the little entry that led to the secret room. 

“It’s a good thing for us that he did want to go 
with Pecky for I don’t know what we would have 
done otherwise. He never would have spent the 
whole evening with Cook,” answered Christine. 

Foggy had had instructions to bring Wisp to the 
small green-latticed door off the servants’ entrance 
walk and they appeared promptly at eight. Foggy 
saw that the girls were waiting for his friend and, 
waving his hand, disappeared as suddenly as they 
had come. Wisp ran up to the little group that was 
waiting for her and was greeted by the word, 
“Hush!” They opened the door and when they 
were all safe inside at the foot of the secret staircase, 
Christine kissed her and said in quick, excited tones: 

“We have a plan for you and you’ll know about it 
in just a second. It’s a secret, and you mustn’t tell 
any one except Foggy.” 

“Can’t I tell Auntie Moneypenny?” asked Wisp. 

“Yes,” Victoria answered. “Yes, you may tell 
her because she is your very old friend and will be 
glad for you.” 

“I’m going to run on up ahead and light the can¬ 
dles. We didn’t think it was safe to go off and leave 
them lighted,” Beryl explained. She ran on up ahead 
of the others. After a moment she called softly, 
“Come!” 

They were up the narrow steep flight of steps in 





194 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

a twinkling, all of them, and when they reached the 
top they pushed Wisp gently forward. 

“You go in first,” said Victoria. 

Who would ever have known the dreary, bare lit¬ 
tle room? It was transformed into the rosiest, cosi¬ 
est place imaginable, or so at least it seemed to Wisp. 
There was a box containing three geranium plants 
in the window. The chintz-covered chairs stood in¬ 
vitingly about. The table which Beryl had discov¬ 
ered in the laundry was covered with a rose cloth at 
the corners of which were teakettles done in cross- 
stitch. Beryl had made it to send home to a friend 
in America but decided instead to use it for the “Se¬ 
cret Room.” It was almost impossible to send pack¬ 
ages home just then, so she was glad to have another 
use for the pretty cover. On the table were piled 
all the books that they had been able to gather 
together. There were two lighted candles on the 
table and another on a little shelf above it. On the 
floor was the fur rug from Beryl’s and Christine’s 
bedroom. 

“We don’t really need it for we have the big rug 
that fits the whole floor. Pecky never will notice that 
it’s gone. She’s too nearsighted and we can tell the 
housemaid if she should say anything about it that 
we don’t need it in the bedroom any more,” Beryl 
had said and Christine had agreed that it would be 
splendid for the chilly Secret Room. 

The fresh chintz curtain had been put up at the 
window and in fact the whole room was the result 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 195 

of much labor on Beryl’s part. The others had 
helped, but they did not have the ideas that Beryl 
had and they were not so clever at making things, or 
planning. 

The whole effect of the room was rose and blue, 
and in the soft candlelight it looked as charming as 
possible. Wisp stood still on the top step, looking 
across at Beryl, not knowing what to think or say. 

“We’ve made this into a schoolroom for you, and 
if you want us to we are willing to teach you every¬ 
thing we know. It will be fun and we want to do it. 
It’s going to be a secret, as I said downstairs,” an¬ 
nounced Beryl. 

Christine came up to Wisp and slipped her arm 
about her waist. 

“You’ve taught me things, Wisp, so I thought I’d 
like to do something for you. You said you wanted 
to learn things and we’d love to teach you anything 
we do know if you’ll let us.” 

Beryl was busy arranging the books on the table. 

“We’ve talked it over and each one said what 
she knew best and what she wanted to teach,” went 
on Beryl. 

Wisp looked from one to the other of them for 
a moment in silence. She stood with her hands 
clasped in front of her, her shock of gold hair falling 
about her face. There were big tears in her eyes, 
and for a moment as she stood there without speak¬ 
ing, they rolled down her face. Then she rubbed 
her arm across her eyes. 



196 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

n Thank ye, Miss Beryl—and all of ye,” she said 
and then she clasped her hands together and looked 
from one to the other of them. “Indeed, indeed I 
do want to learn things—oh, ye don’t know how I 
want to be different.” 

Beryl drew out a small chair from under the 
table. 

“You’d better sit down and we’ll try first of all 
to find out what you don’t know. Then we’ll know 
better how to begin with the lessons,” she said. 

Christine smiled to herself, for Beryl’s tone was 
exactly like that of one of the teachers at home. 
She smiled, but she was not happy about the way 
Beryl had spoken. She did not understand Wisp 
and it made it all seem different. She meant well 
and had worked hard to make the room attractive 
and had been very good-natured about the whole 
thing, but she could not really see why Christine 
and Victoria were so interested in the little girl from 
Jeffers Court. The part that really did interest 
Beryl was having it all a secret from the rest of the 
household. 

Wisp went over to a chair and sat down obedi¬ 
ently. There was a twinkle in her eye as she looked 
up at Beryl. She was very quick to see things for 
herself and she saw that they had made a game of it 
all. She was as happy and pleased as could be and 
ready to enter into the fun with all her might. 

Victoria came up to her and sat down in a chair 
next her. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 197 

“It’s true what Christine said about your having 
helped us. You will do that more and more I know. 
You see Christine and I know more about you than 
you think. We saw you teaching the little class at 
Jeffers Court. We stood back in the entrance way 
and listened. Oh, Wisp,” Victoria put her hand on 
Wisp’s arm as she spoke, “you don’t know how we 
loved watching you. You mustn’t mind our having 
done it without telling you. We loved it best of all 
when you said the Little Lamb poem. You see we 
know a great many poems between us and that was 
one thing that made us want to help you.” 

This was a long speech for Victoria, but she was 
much in earnest. She wanted Wisp to understand 
that it was not through pity that they had asked 
her to come to the Secret Room for lessons. Chris¬ 
tine came over to the table and Joan followed her. 
They none of them quite knew how to begin and 
it was Wisp herself who helped them. She leaned 
forward in her earnest way and she was so small 
and thin that she was almost lost in the big cushioned 
chair. 

“There’s one thing that is the most needed for 
me, Miss Victoria,” she said, turning toward her. 
“If ye can help me to speak right I can learn the 
other things easier.” 

Victoria nodded. “Yes, you have a lovely voice 
and when you can learn to speak English correctly 
you’ll love to say poems,” she answered. 

Wisp nodded. “I do that now, miss. I say poems, 



198 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

but they ain’t said right I know well enough. I’ve 
always been a great one for poems,” she declared. 

“Say some, please!” It was Joan who spoke and 
she came up close to Wisp as she said it. She was 
beginning to be interested. 

Wisp looked toward Christine and Victoria. 
“Shall I?” she asked, and as they nodded she folded 
her hands on the table and this is what she said to 
them: 

“Farewell to Sliev Morna, the hills of the winds! 

Where the hunters of Ulin pursue the brown hinds! 
Farewell to Lock Ern where the wild eagles dwell! 
Farewell to Shanavon, Shanavon farewell! 

Farewell to our castles, our oak blazing halls, 

Where the red fox is prowling alone in the walls! 
Farewell to the joys of the harp and the shell, 

Farewell to Ierne; Ierne, farewell!” 

When Wisp had finished, before any one else 
could speak Joan cried out: 

“Oh, teach me to say it like that, Wisp!” 

“It is lovely the way you do it, Wisp,” Christine 
said impulsively, and what she said was true. Wisp’s 
brogue and her odd way of twirling her words added 
to the quaint charm of the old Irish poem which 
she had said to them. 

“Arithmetic's the only way I can really help and 
I think we’d better start right in. I have a very 
easy book here, one of the first ones I used and I am 
good at explaining; you know I am, Christine. I’ve 
helped Christine with her examples all her life, only 
I must say she, well, she is as dense as a stone wall 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 199 

about understanding them!” Beryl was looking 
over the books on the table as she spoke and she 
picked up a big brown one and opened it to the 
first page. 

Wisp looked up, shaking the hair out of her 
eyes. 

‘‘It’s no use, Miss Beryl, for I couldn’t learn it, 
indeed I couldn’t. I’ll do me best with the other 
studies, and oh, I do thank ye a thousand times for 
all the trouble ye are after takin’, but not that, please, 
miss, not arithmetic. Ye see I teach school a bit 
myself just in a way ye know, Miss Beryl, but ain’t 
it awful I ain’t taught any number work except 
helpin’ Foggy to add?” She waved her hands out 
in a funny little way she had of doing, and they all 
laughed, even Beryl, though she said disapprovingly, 
“You must learn it, of course. You never can get 
along in life without it.” 

“How prim and school-teachery Beryl sounds,” 
thought Christine. 

Victoria went over and sat down on an old wood 
box which they had covered with a cushion. She put 
her chin in her hand and sat looking meditatively 
at Wisp for a moment, then she spoke: 

“As she loves poetry, why not have her learn 
something we know? She can say it very slowly 
and that will help her to pronounce the words. We 
can each say some verses that we like and she 
can choose which one she wants to learn first,” she 
suggested. 





200 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

This was agreed upon and Beryl began, reciting 
the only poem that she knew, a relic of the Friday 
afternoon piece-speaking they had had at school. It 
was “The Landing of the Pilgrims,” and Beryl 
boomed out with, “The breaking waves dashed 
high,” in splendid fashion! Wisp was vague about 
American history, but she wanted to know about it 
and she liked the poem. 

Nina, who was uneasy for fear Aunt Withering- 
haugh’s maid would come for her before the school 
session was over, was called upon next for a poem 
and had to think for some time before one came to 
her. She then astonished them all by saying one in 
Italian. She had had an Italian governess when 
she was seven years old and had been taught some 
verses and she said this funny one of Christina Ros¬ 
setti’s. 

“It’s supposed to be funny and it’s about how 
queer a pig would be if he wore a wig,” explained 
Nina and she recited the jingle in her funny little 
voice. Joan nearly bit off the end of a penholder she 
had in her hand in an effort not to laugh. 

‘‘Porco la zucca fitta in parrucca! 

Che gli diresti mai? 

’M’ inchinerei, Tossequierei— 

‘Ser Porco, come stai?’ 

‘Ahi guai per caso mai 

Se la coda andasse a male?* . . . 

‘Sta tranquillo-buon legale 
Gli farebbe un codicillo.’ ” 


201 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

No one knew just what to say when Nina finished, 
but all of them, even Beryl, were impressed. The 
girls from India knew some French but they did not 
know Italian and they had more respect for Nina’s 
education from that time on. 

“Hurry up, Christine, or whoever comes next,” 
commanded Beryl, and Christine said the wonderful 
lines about the dying boy who galloped to Napoleon. 

“You know we French stormed Ratisbon,” her 
voice rang out clearly there in the funny old room, 
and when she came to the last line she saw that Wisp 
was wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket 
and that there were tears in Victoria’s eyes. She 
felt a little choky herself as she came to the last line: 

‘Tm killed, sire, and his chief beside, smiling, the boy fell 
dead!” 

“For goodness’ sake what a forlorn thing that is. 
Do think of something cheerful, Joan,” remarked 
Beryl as Christine sat down. 

“I don’t think it’s forlorn; it’s splendid,” said 
Victoria. 

Joan giggled. “Christine made such a funny Na¬ 
poleon, though, didn’t she?” she laughed. They all 
laughed then, for Christine had been funny with her 
yellow braids sticking out each side of her serious 
face. 

Joan eyed Victoria after she stood up. They had 
had a governess in India who had loved poetry and 
had taught them to learn and love it too. 




202 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“What shall I say, Vic?” asked Joan. 

“Why not one of Wordsworth’s?” suggested her 
sister. 

Joan shook her dark curls vigorously. “Oh, no I 
They’re too goody-goody,” she objected. 

“Not all of them. You used to love ‘The Solitary 
Reaper.’ ” 

“Oh, yes, I do like that one. I learned it up in 
the hills a year ago.” There was a homesick droop 
to Joan’s lips as she said the last. 

“Do say it, Joanie,” said Christine, and so Joan 
did say it. 

“Behold her, single in the field, 

Yon solitary Highland Lass! 

Reaping and singing by herself; 

Stop here, or gently pass! 

Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 

And sings a melancholy strain; 

Oh listen! for the Vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 

“No Nightingale did ever chaunt 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travelers in some shady haunt, 

Among Arabian sands: 

A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard 
In springtime from the Cuckoo-bird, 

Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 

“Will no one tell me what she sings?— 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-off things, 


203 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

And battles long ago: 

Or is it some more humble lay, 

Familiar matter of to-day? 

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 

That has been, and may be again? 

“What’er the theme, the Maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending; 

I saw her singing at her work, 

And o’er the sickle bending;— 

I listened, motionless and still; 

And, as I mounted up the hill, 

The music in my heart I bore, 

Long after it was heard no more. 

“Isn’t that a doty one?’’ said Wisp softly as Joan 
finished. 

“Now you hurry up with yours, Victoria, and then 
we’ll plan what else besides learning poetry Wisp is 
to do for next time. Then we’ll have refreshments.” 
This from Beryl who felt that they had had more 
than enough poetry and thought it was high time 
they did something else. 

Victoria sat back a little in the shadow with the 
candlelight flickering about her. She had on a soft 
white wool frock which she had worn at dinner 
and there was a black sash about her waist. Her 
face was very fair under its mantle of dark hair. 
She sat with her hands folded lightly in her lap. 

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve been thinking of 
Tennyson and of how the Lily Maid loved Lance¬ 
lot. I’ve been thinking about it all the evening. 





204 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Isn’t it odd that I should! I mean this is such a 
funny room and yet it makes me feel romantic. I 
might*just say that bit from Elaine.” 

And so, sitting there in the shadow she said’these 
lines of Tennyson’s: 

“Then freely spoke Sir Lancelot to them all: 

My lord liege Arthur, and all ye that hear, 

Know that for this most gentle maiden’s death 
Right heavy am I; for good she was and true, 

But loved me with a love beyond all love 
In women, whomsoever I have known. 

Yet to be loved makes not to love again; 

Not at my years, however it hold in youth. 

I swear by truth and knighthood that I gave 
No cause, not willingly, for such a love: 

To this I call my friends in testimony, 

Her brethren, and her father, who himself 
Besought me to be plain and blunt, and use, 

To break her passion, some discourtesy 
Against my nature: what I could, I did. 

I left her and I bade her no farewell; 

Tho’, had I dreamed the damsel would have died, 

I might have put my wits to some rough use, 

And helped her from herself.” 

“I love that one the best. I’d like to be a-learn- 
ing of that one next time,” said Wisp when Victoria 
had finished. 

“Then that’s settled,” said Beryl briskly. “And 
now what else?” 

They fell to talking all at once and it was with 
some difficulty that the next lesson’s program was 
arranged. Wisp was to learn a page of First Year 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 205 

grammar and Beryl was to explain it. She was to 
learn the names and dates of reigns of the first five 
kings of Great Britain and was to spell and pro¬ 
nounce correctly ten words which Christine wrote 
out for her and of course she was to learn the poem. 

After all this had been decided upon Beryl went 
over to a shelf and brought back a tray on which 
was a thermos bottle, some cups and saucers, and a 
plate of cake. 

“It’s cook’s seed cake and she let me make some 
cocoa after our dear Mrs. Mink went to Glasnevin 
and she didn’t ask any questions,” she said as she 
poured the cocoa from the thermos into the cups. 

It was fun having the cocoa and cake, but they 
had to hurry with them, for Beryl saw by her watch 
that it was almost time for Miss Peck to come back. 
As they were going down the stairs Wisp looked 
back at the pink and blue room, dark now except for 
the flicker of their candle. 

“I don’t know how to say it,” she said, speaking 
half to them and half to herself. “Oh, I can’t tell 
ye how I thank ye, but I think the star must have 
answered my prayer.” 



XVI.— Victoria Visits Fairy Cottage 

IT rained and rained and rained through the lat¬ 
ter part of January and it was still raining in Feb¬ 
ruary. But there are rainy days and rainy days! 
Some are really enjoyable. It’s fun to look over old 
letters and cards and even paper-doll houses— 
things of the past put away for just the sort of time 
when the rain simply plunges down and there doesn’t 
seem to be anything else to do. 

This rainy day in February of which I speak was 
not a cozy, jolly one. It was extremely disagreeable. 
They had had three meetings in the Secret Room and 
Wisp had proved to be an apt pupil, though an un¬ 
usual one. She had learned to say several of the 
poems, but she would say them in her own way and 
try as they would they could not teach her to pro¬ 
nounce the words as they did. 

For the past week as it had rained so steadily 

206 







Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 207 

they had not been able to meet Miss Peck did not 
go out at all, and as Beryl insisted on having the Se¬ 
cret Room and the teaching of Wisp a secret, they 
could not go on with it without the governess know¬ 
ing about it. 

“I don’t really see why Pecky shouldn’t know. 
It’s a good thing we’re doing, trying to help Wisp,” 
Joan had said one day. 

“It would spoil it all,” Victoria had answered, 
and Christine had agreed. 

“They wouldn’t understand, Joan. They wouldn’t, 
really. You see it isn’t just teaching Wisp; it’s get¬ 
ting to know her, finding out how different she is,” 
Christine said. 

“Oh, it wouldn’t be any fun at all if they knew. 
The fun is having it a secret,” Beryl put in. 

“Well, rather not!” Nina remarked. “As Chris¬ 
tine says, they wouldn’t understand.” By “they” the 
girls meant Uncle James and Aunt Witheringhaugh 
and all who were in authority. 

The meetings had been few and far between, but 
it had been fun planning them. Miss Peck and Mrs. 
Mink had to be arranged for and then there was 
Patrick. He had guessed that they were up to some¬ 
thing. They had not been able to conceal that much 
from him, but he had not as yet made much of an at¬ 
tempt at finding it out. He was not a curious child 
and seemed to prefer Blighty to any other com¬ 
panion. 

On this late February day it seemed as though 



208 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

everything went wrong. Miss Peck had a touch of 
rheumatism. Mrs. Mink was in her most grum¬ 
bling mood and went muttering about the house that 
they were the most unruly and careless set of children 
it had ever come her way to encounter. The les¬ 
sons seemed unusually difficult that morning and Miss 
Peck was not quite her usual patient, cheerful self. 

Beryl and Christine had not heard from their fa¬ 
ther in several weeks and somehow on this rainy 
day they seemed to realize it as they had not done 
before. He was all the real family they had, for 
as they said to themselves, “cousins and uncles aren’t 
quite the same,” and they missed him in spite of the 
jolly household at Fitzwilliam Square. 

Patrick had been kept in for several days because 
he had a cold and Miss Peck immediately began 
to worry about his chest. He missed the garden 
and was cross. Even Blighty seemed to feel the 
dreariness of the day, for he sat looking dejectedly 
out of the window at a budding hawthorn tree by 
the stone wall which edged the garden all the way 
around. 

Beryl had a battle of words with Mrs. Mink, and 
the housekeeper, as usual, came off victorious. 

Beryl was restless, partly because of not having a 
letter from her father. She wanted to get hold of 
the keys and thought she might make a compromise 
with Mrs. Mink about them. It made it very diffi¬ 
cult for them not to be able to have access to any of 
the provisions in the house and to Beryl it was an- 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 209 

noying in the extreme. She could cook very well and 
she wanted to be able to show the rest of them that 
she could and she also wanted to manage. She loved 
managing! 

Mrs. Mink, however, would not hear of it and all 
Beryl’s words were in vain. When Beryl left her 
with her head high in the air she announced, “I shall 
write and complain of you to Uncle Tames to-night, 
Mrs. Mink.” 

The housekeeper had replied placidly, “It won’t 
do a bit of good, miss!” 

Beryl stamped up the stairs and when she came 
into the schoolroom, or as they preferred to have it 
called “the study,” she slammed the door after her 
with such a bang that the windows rattled and she 
made no apology to the others who were sitting 
around the big center table with their books. 

Christine looked up and exclaimed crossly, “How 
thoughtless you are, Beryl.” 

Her sister answered, “Shut up!” 

There was a moment’s silence. Joan, who was 
reading about the Battle of Waterloo, giggled. Vic¬ 
toria said quietly and coldly, looking up for a moment 
at Beryl, “I think you are very rude!” 

Beryl gave Victoria a sweeping look of scorn and, 
turning around, went out of the door, slamming it 
after her harder than ever. 

Cook had been given the whole day off to go to her 
home, which was some way off in the country. The 
scullery maid had cooked the lunch and had scorched 



210 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

the soup. The next course at lunch was mutton and 
vegetable marrow and none of the Langsleys liked 
vegetable marrow. Miss Peck could not understand 
why, as she herself was especially fond of it, and 
she remarked about it gently at lunch that day, just 
as she always did. “It’s so delicious when one be¬ 
comes accustomed to it,” she said. 

Patrick particularly disliked mutton because he 
had always been told that it was so good for him. 
He scowled at his plate and made a face at Victoria 
when she urged him to eat it. Beryl talked to no 
one at the table except Miss Peck. On the whole, 
lunch was not a pleasant meal. 

When it was over Beryl went to the entry cupboard 
and put on her jacket and a little soft blue sport hat. 
She fished in the pocket of her jacket and found one 
glove there and after searching for a few minutes 
found the other on the floor. This did not improve 
her temper, for Christine had borrowed her coat to 
go out to the post box and had been careless about 
the gloves. Beryl was careful about all her belong¬ 
ings and she did not have a great deal of sympathy 
for those who were otherwise. 

She had ridden a bicycle since she was six and it 
had not mattered to her in the least that her friends 
at home thought it an old-fashioned thing to do. 
She liked to ride one because she could get over the 
ground quickly. Her father had allowed her to buy 
one after she came to Dublin. It had been cheap 
and was in fairly good condition and she used it a 


211 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

great deal when the weather permitted. To-day she 
was in the sort of mood when she didn’t mind the 
rain at all and it had lessened to a faint drizzle as 
she started out. Miss Peck had been uneasy about 
her going off very far by herself, as she did not know 
her way about, so as a rule she had ridden around 
the squares. To-day, however, she made up her 
mind to go straight out into the country for a good 
ride. 

She pushed her wheel out of the entry door to the 
Tradesman’s Entrance sidewalk, jumped on and was 
speeding down Fitzwilliam Square in the twinkling 
of an eye. 

She had expected it would be bad traveling, but to 
her surprise the roads were firm in spite of being 
wet, and as the rain grew less and less, she was glad 
indeed that she had come off by herself, and in her 
own way she was ready for an adventure. 

The afternoon at Fitzwilliam Square wore slowly 
away and every one seemed to find it tiresome. Miss 
Peck went to her room to lie down. Patrick took 
Blighty and went out to the kitchen where he stayed 
for a long time. He worried the scullery maid as 
she was timid about Blighty. He went into the pan¬ 
try, but though he searched thoroughly he could not 
find anything good to eat except a glass jar of semo¬ 
linas, a kind of yellow raisin. He ate most of these, 
giving some to Blighty who liked them so much that 
he whined for more. 

Christine was learning to make helmets and sat 


212 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

frowning over her khaki worsted by the fire in the 
library. Joan had decided suddenly to make a scrap¬ 
book for wounded soldiers and sat on the rug in front 
of the fire, a pot of homemade paste and a pair of 
scissors beside her and a pile of old magazines. 

“You didn’t need the paste at all to-day, Joan. 
You can’t paste things in until you have your scrap¬ 
book sewed together. That paper that you have 
won’t do. You need very stiff white paper almost 
like cardboard. You’ll have to buy it. Please be 
careful and don’t ruin the rug with that messy 
paste,” said Victoria in her most blase tone. 

Joan said, “Bosh,” and went calmly on cutting out 
things that took her fancy. 

Christine threw down her knitting and yawned. 
“There’s one thing I do adore over here. It’s the 
way we always have tea, rain or shine, even if no 
one calls. It’s sort of like a party every afternoon. 
It’s not really the tea. I have mostly milk in mine. 
It’s the thin bread and butter and the fun of all sit¬ 
ting around the fire and having it,” remarked Chris¬ 
tine, and she had hardly spoken when there was the 
bump of the tray against the door and Joan ran to 
open it for the maid. 

Miss Peck did not come down for tea, but Pat¬ 
rick appeared and ate a few remaining raisins with 
his bread and butter. 

“I’m going out to play cricket to-morrow if it 
rains as hard as a monsoon. I think I’ll go out a 
while now, it’s just sort of drizzling.” 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 213 

“You’ll do nothing of the kind, Paddy,” reproved 
Joan, and her brother answered, “I will if I want to.” 

Victoria put her book down on the window seat. 
It was one that Beryl had loaned her and it was 
called “Blythe McBride.” Victoria was deeply in¬ 
terested in it and had not minded the gloomy after¬ 
noon as much because of it. 

“Where’s cross-patch?” asked Patrick, throwing 
himself down on the rug beside Joan and stirring the 
paste vigorously. 

“Why, Paddy, aren’t you ashamed?” said Joan, 
looking uneasily at Christine. 

“Well, isn’t that what you called Beryl? Where 
is she?” Patrick still stirred the paste, spilling some 
of it on the rug as he spoke. 

“Paddy, will you leave that alone?” snapped 
Joan. 

Victoria stood up and looked out. The rain was 
almost over. She went out of the room, down the 
stairs to the hall. Like Beryl, she wanted to go 
out, but unlike her did not act on the impulse except 
that she opened the front door and stood on the 
steps, breathing in the sweet air. As she stood there 
a messenger boy on a bicycle stopped in front of the 
house and the boy jumped off the wheel and came 
up the steps. 

“Wire for Langsley, miss,” he said. 

She took the yellow envelope from him and looked 
down at it and she saw the words War Office and the 
address and name, and because she was a Langsley 


214 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

and that was the name on the envelope, she opened 
it. The wire read: 

“Regret to inform you that Major Charles Ed¬ 
gar Langsley has been missing since January twenty- 
eighth. Last seen badly wounded near A. S. C. 
outpost. Dispatch confirmed Salonica.” 

For a moment Victoria stood there silently in the 
windy doorway. Then she said to the boy as she 
signed the slip: 

“There is no answer.” 

He turned away and was off on his wheel, whis¬ 
tling, down the wet sidewalk. Victoria still stood 
in the open doorway. Was it that very morning that 
she had spoken so crossly to Beryl? Victoria was a 
soldier’s daughter and at any 'time her own father 
might be called out of India with his regiment. As 
it was, she had once herself been almost in the midst 
of a hill scrimmage. At any time they had been 
ready for orders to go here or there. She knew 
something about being a soldier’s daughter, but it 
came to her suddenly that neither Beryl nor Chris¬ 
tine realized just what that meant. Their father 
had joined the Army Service Corps and they had 
not understood that he was sometimes in as much 
danger as those in the front line trenches. 

As she stood there in the soft wind with the fresh 
spring-touched fragrance of wet trees and grass 
around her, she wondered what was the thing that 
was best for her to do. She was glad that the wire 
had fallen into her hands and she knew that there 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 215 

was little danger of its being in the newspapers for 
several days, because there were strict regulations 
about the family being notified first. She made up 
her mind to one thing, and that was not to speak 
to any one of the household about the bad news that 
night. She thought of Miss Peck but put the idea of 
telling her away. As she was turning to go inside 
another messenger on a wheel came up the walk and 
she took the second wire, opened and read it, and 
again said, “No answer.” It was from Uncle James 
and said simply: “Keep up courage. Making all in¬ 
quiries. Authorities still searching. James Morti¬ 
mer Langsley.” 

Victoria was not at all comforted by Uncle 
James’s wire. There had been no real encourage¬ 
ment in it. He only said they were all doing the 
best they could to trace the father of Beryl and 
Christine. Victoria seldom cried and she had no de¬ 
sire for tears at present, but there was an ache at 
her heart when she went into the library and she was 
so pale that Miss Peck, who had joined them and 
was sitting close to the fire, exclaimed about it. 

“Come, dear, and sit by me. You are cold, I’m 
sure, and I know this has been a trying day for all 
of you. I’m feeling much better now and we must 
all manage to have a happy evening.” 

Victoria went over and sat down by Miss Peck. 
Joan was still busy over her scrapbook, her cheeks 
red from the hot glow of the fire. Christine had 
tired of her knitting and it lay on the floor. She 


21 6 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

was stretched out on the sofa with a book. Patrick 
was sliding down the banisters outside. Blighty 
was curled up on top of a bookcase and was sound 
asleep. 

“I can’t think where Beryl can be. I’m quite un¬ 
easy,” commented Miss Peck. 

“She’s out on her bike I think, Pecky. It’s cleared 
up and she’s probably had a dandy ride and will 
come back as gay as a cricket. Oh, this is such an 
interesting book. I came across it in the library. 
It’s short stories and the one I’m reading is a peach. 
It’s called ‘An Unfinished Story’ and it’s so romantic. 
This man falls in love with a girl but has to go off 
exploring in Africa and nearly dies. He is rescued 
and brought back, but in the meantime the girl who 
thinks he’s dead has become engaged to some one 
else. It’s sad and exciting and unusual.” Christine 
buried herself in the book after she had spoken and 
did not even hear Miss Peck’s remark. 

“I wonder, dear, if it’s just the story for you to 
read.” 

Victoria sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. 
She was thinking deeply and she, too, was wonder¬ 
ing where Beryl was and why she did not come home. 

Christine shut her book with a slam. 

“It’s Richard Harding Davis’s story, you kmw 
Pecky. The man who rescued the man who was ern 
gaged to the girl tells the story before the girl at a 
dinner party in London. It was dreadful for the girl 
to have him tell about it before them all, but he was 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 217 

a cad,” Christine said, throwing a sofa pillow at 
Joan who threw it back and suggested that they have 
a run in the garden as it had cleared outside. 

It was then that the idea came to Victoria. She 
would keep the bad news about Christine’s and 
Beryl’s father from them at least until the next day, 
but there was one person whom she wanted to see 
and to whom she could tell the secret that so 
oppressed her. It was Wisp! 

A half hour later she was walking toward Jeffers 
Court. She had left Christine and Joan in the gar¬ 
den and like Beryl had slipped out unseen. It was 
a fairly short walk to the green and Cuff Street was 
not far beyond it. As she walked in the fresh after¬ 
rain air Victoria began to feel better. The rain had 
stopped entirely and the late sun peeped through the 
clouds with a promise of a jolly day on the morrow. 

She had the two wires safe in the pocket of her 
jacket, but she was not at all sure that she was doing 
the right thing in keeping them there. Suppose 
Uncle James should send another one while she was 
out! That very morning she had spoken so crossly 
to Beryl. No, she could not end the day by telling 
her such news. She must wait at least until the next 
morning. 

She turned in at Jeffers Court and stood uncer¬ 
tainly inside the dark entry way. She heard voices 
all about her, harsh, laughing, and mingled with them 
the insistent moaning of the wind—Wisp’s friend, 
the wind. 





218 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

As she stood there in the shadow wondering how 
best to find Wisp, some one came across the court¬ 
yard walking very slowly and leaning heavily on a 
crutch. When she came close enough Victoria saw 
that it was a very old woman, so old that her little 
face, under its closely folded shawl, was wizened 
and puckered in an odd way. 

As she came up to her Victoria felt suddenly timid, 
but gathering up her courage she asked: 

“Could you tell me where Wisp lives, please?” 

After she had spoken she remembered that the old 
woman would not know her little friend by that 
name. She guessed at once that it was Auntie 
Moneypenny who peered at her from under the 
shawl. 

“Shure I can tell ye. Come with me, little miss. 
It’s Kathleen ye’ll be after wantin’. She said ye 
had a doty name for her. We’ll be a-findin’ of her 
if ye’ll come with me!” 

Victoria followed her up the steep stairs, and it 
was a good while before they reached the top of the 
second flight, for Auntie Moneypenny had to go very 
slowly, pausing every now and then. 

“Won’t you let me help you?” asked Victoria, tak¬ 
ing her arm in the middle of the first flight. 

“Bless ye no, miss. I know these here stairs as 
well as me own name, miss!” she answered her. 

When they reached the second landing she called 
up the stairs in her high, cracked voice: 

“Kathleen! A young lady to see ye !” 


Wisp-—A Girl of Dublin 219 

Auntie was very much excited at this visit for 
Wisp. She peered at Victoria kindly and nothing 
escaped her. When she wanted to auntie could see 
plainly enough. She had never met any one quite 
like Victoria before and she wanted to remember 
just how she looked so that she could think about 
her and tell about her afterward. 

Wisp appeared almost at once, standing at the top 
of the last flight and looking down into the gloom. 
Then she flew down, or at any rate she ran so quickly 
and lightly that it seemed as though she flew. When 
she reached the last step she touched Victoria on the 
arm softly. 

“Oh, miss. Ye came here. Do ye think ye should 
have come like this alone on a gray afternoon?” 
she said to her, and for the first time almost that 
day Victoria smiled. 

“Oh, yes, Wisp. I so wanted to come. I— 
I’ve something I want to tell you,” she answered 
her. 

“Ye’d better be after a-takin’ her to Fairy Cot¬ 
tage,” suggested Auntie Moneypenny. “Ye’ll be 
welcome to a cup o’ tea at my place when ye come 
along down.” 

“Thank ye, auntie. Maybe Miss Victoria will be 
glad of a sip o’ tea after a bit,” answered Wisp, smil¬ 
ing up at her old friend, and then, turning to Victoria, 
she asked, “Will ye come up to me own little place?” 
and Victoria answered: 

“That’s what I came fori” 




220 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

It was exciting climbing the ladder which was 
wobbly and tottered in a rickety way just as they 
reached the top. It was fascinating peering around 
a corner of the blue curtain and the crawling in after 
Wisp. 

So this was Fairy Cottage! The pink and white 
bath mat was a little dingy now but had been nicely 
brushed that morning. The shelves were neat as a 
pin and there was a darn in the curtain flapping at 
the window, which Foggy had cut out of the side so 
that Wisp could see the sky. 

Victoria curled up on one cushion and Wisp on 
another. Wisp was so happy over the visit that her 
eyes shone brighter than ever. ‘‘Do ye see whose 
come to look at ye? Do ye see who’s a-visitin’ of 
us, Fairy Cottage?” she questioned in her thought. 
It was Victoria who began the conversation, leaning 
forward and putting her hand on Wisp’s knee and 
looking at her so earnestly that her little friend 
looked back anxiously, seeing that something was 
wrong. 

“Oh, Wisp, I came to you because of what has 
happened—bad news. Oh, it’s been such a dull day 
at Fitzwilliam Square. You can’t think. We were all 
out of sorts, but I was the worst of all. Beryl 
slammed the door and I told her she was rude, and 
now—now—” Victoria put her hand over her eyes 
and sat silent for a moment. 

“Yes, bad news. What do ye mean, Miss Vic¬ 
toria?” Wisp leaned forward as she spoke. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 221 

Victoria told her then of the wires which had 
come. 

“Lost! They don’t know where he is—Miss 
Christine’s father!” Wisp exclaimed softly after Vic¬ 
toria had finished. 

“Don’t you see how I feel, Wisp? Oh, it’s so 
dreadful having this secret and knowing what they 
don’t know, but it’s worse to think of having to tell 
them. I can’t stay long now, but I knew it would 
help me to come to see you.” With a sudden im¬ 
pulse Victoria leaned forward and putting her arms 
around Wisp, hugged her. “You’re so different. 
What is there about you, I wonder? I never knew 
a little girl could live like this way up here alone.” 
Victoria looked around Fairy Cottage as she spoke, 
and then fearing that Wisp might not think she liked 
it she went on: “It’s a dear place and it’s your very 
own.” 

Wisp nodded. “It is a good enough home, miss. 
It suits me well enough,” she said modestly. Then 
she repeated, “Miss Christine’s father. They don’t 
know where he is!” 

“What shall we do, Wisp?” 

“They ain’t much we can do. There ain’t nothin’ 
I wouldn’t do if I could. Ye all doing for me the 
way ye do—teachin’ me and treatin’ me like I was— 
like I was a lady. Ye wantin’ to be friends. Miss 
Christine there in the green that first day I saw her, 
askin’ me about Ireland. No, there ain’t nothin’ I 
wouldn’t do if I could.” Wisp sat with her chin on 





222 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

her hand, thinking. “Ye did right not to tell to¬ 
night. Maybe to-morrow’ll be a sort of gold-like 
day, maybe it’ll be easier to think of a way to help.” 
She shook the hair out of her eyes. Then she clasped 
her hands tightly together and bowed her head over 
them. “Ain’t it lovely, the class up in the Secret 
Room and all of ye so good to me. I thank the star 
every night. Me lookin’ the way I do and talk¬ 
ing all twisted and ye all forgettin’ it!” There 
was a little sob in Wisp’s voice as she finished 
speaking. 

“It’s because we love you, Wisp, Christine and 
I,” answered Victoria. There was a sudden wail 
and a wrangle of voices and a call of, “Kathleen!” 

Wisp put her head out of the curtain and Victoria 
looked over her shoulder. At the foot of the lad¬ 
der stood Minnie Kinsale, O’Sullivan, his young 
brother, Tin, and Dawson. 

“It’s an awful night, Kathleen. Kin we come up? 
O’Sullivan and Dawson kin stay on the ladder. They 
was real comfortable sitting there the other day when 
we had the Slade’s coffee. Will ye tell us a story, 
Kathleen?” 

Minnie Kinsale looked up imploringly at her 
friend. 

Wisp turned her head toward Victoria. “This 
do be Miss Victoria Langsley come to call. These 
be Minnie, O’Sullivan, Dawson, and Tin,” she 
waved her arm toward the last two as she spoke. 
“They do be the brother and cousin o’ me great pal, 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 223 

Peg Casey, who has gone this afternoon to the dis¬ 
pensary to have two teeth out!” 

The faces below brightened a little. That would 
be something to hear about and enjoy, Peg’s account 
of her visit to the dispensary. 

“There ain’t no use in your a-wantin’ to come 
along up now. We’re invited down to Auntie 
Moneypenny’s for a cup o’ tea. To-night when it’s 
dark maybe I’ll tell somethin’ kind o’ creepy. I’ve 
a bite o’ somethin’ for us put away!” 

“What?” came in eager question from below. 

“Never ye mind and ye needn’t shout so loud, 
O’Sullivan. Ye’ll have no more than yer share. 
Now all of ye go off and play.” She made a sweep¬ 
ing gesture with her hand as she spoke. 

“There ain’t nothin’ to do,” wailed Minnie. 

“They ain’t! Is that so? Why not go down to 
the court and pretend this here place is a sort o’ cas¬ 
tle and yer best friend is under spell o’ magic lock 
and key. Git together all of yez and think on a way 
to git her out. Use yer thoughts, such as ye have, 
and make up somethin’!” Wisp admonished them. 

“I’m a fairy,” chirped Tin, pounding the dirty 
floor with a dirty piece of broom handle. 

Wisp nodded approvingly. 

“Shure, he’s more sense than the whole lot o’ ye, 
has Tin. Pattern after him and ye’ll be seein’ the 
Little People maybe. Now git out, for I’m busy 
with me company!” 

They started slowly and dejectedly down the 



224 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

stairs, O’Sullivan’s long face looking mournfully over 
his shoulder. 

“There ain’t no fun playin’ fairies without ye, 
Kathleen 1 ” he said. 




XVII.— In the Butcher’s Cart 

A year later when Victoria was telling her mother 
all about things, and there was so very much to tell, 
she said, “there were funny days and happy days 
and some disagreeable days, but the strangest day of 
all was the one when the news came about Uncle 
Charles I” 

When her mother asked her why, except for its be¬ 
ing a sad day, it should also have been so strange 
a one, she did not know just what to tell her. “It 
may have been that Jeffers Court was so very new 
and strange to me, perhaps it was just that, but it 
all seemed like a dream some way, Wisp and Fairy 
Cottage and the children coming to the foot of the 
ladder and Wisp telling them to go and play fairies 
225 










226 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

in the court, and then tea at Auntie Moneypenny’s. 
Oh, mother, you can’t think how odd it was! She’s 
such a very, very old person and such a dear. Why, 
mother, I didn’t know people that lived in tenements 
could be so gentle and polite. Wisp and Auntie 
Moneypenny were so kind to me that afternoon and 
they made me feel so welcome. We sat by the stove 
in Auntie Moneypenny’s funny little room and we 
had the most delicious tea. Auntie said, ‘It’s all in the 
brewin’, miss.’ She told things, not stories exactly, 
but about when she was young, and oh, I’m sure it 
must have been thousands of years ago! 

“She lived in a cabin when she was young and 
about the front door the turf was piled up high. 
She used to earn extra ha’pennys by standing at the 
top of a hill near her home and sometimes being al¬ 
lowed by the driver to put on the drag chain when 
the coach was to descend. She was one of twelve 
children and she was almost always happy. She 
had Wisp open a queer little trunk and fish out a box, 
and in it was a daguerreotype of auntie when she 
was twenty at a race meeting in the country. She 
had on a cape which she said was blue and her feet 
were bare, but she was as pretty as could be. 

“She loves Wisp, mother, and she kept saying, ‘Ye 
do well to take up with Kathleen. There ain’t a 
smarter, better-hearted gal on the island.’ Wisp 
didn’t want her to talk that way but she just would. 
Then Wisp and Foggy seeing me home. I was only 
just in time for dinner. I had to act as though noth- 


227 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ing had happened, but I felt better than before I went 
to Jeffers Court. They helped me there to be brave, 
though they didn’t know they did!” 

We would like to know more that Victoria said, 
but after all, since we left her last at Jeffers Court, 
we can hardly go on with her sayings of a year 
later. Wisp and Foggy did see her home, and she 
did feel comforted. Furthermore, she was able to 
run upstairs and change for dinner without any one 
commenting on where she had been. She found 
them all in the library, and sitting on the table, swing¬ 
ing her hat wildly and talking as fast as she could, 
was Beryl. She had had the greatest fun and she 
had forgotten all the cobwebs of the morning. She 
looked up and gawe Victoria a friendly nod as she 
came in. 

“Hullo, Vic. I’ve had a dandy time and didn’t 
want to come back to this old town a bit. I was just 
telling the others about it all,” Beryl said. 

Victoria came over and sat down beside Beryl on 
the table, putting her arm across her cousin’s shoul¬ 
der. “Tell me, too,” she said. 

“Well, I’ll begin from the beginning, though of 
course there isn’t much to tell. It’s just that it’s so 
‘ripping,’ as Keith says, in the country here. Why 
it’s almost unbelievable!” 

“You use that expression all the time now, 
Berry,” put in Christine. 

The gong rang just then for dinner and they all 
went on out to the dining room and through the 


228 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

soup and beef, even when the queen of puddings wa 9 
brought on, Beryl still told of her afternoon. She 
liked to talk, and as every one seemed interested 
and In much better temper than at lunch, she kept 
right on entertaining them. 

There were a few interruptions during the pud¬ 
ding, for Patrick said, “We’ve had this pudding three 
times in eight days”; and Blighty, who had also re¬ 
covered his spirits, made a grab at the maid as she 
put Patrick’s dish in front of him and caught some 
meringue on his paw. Every one laughed except 
Miss Peck and Victoria. Miss Peck remarked as 
she had often done before, “I wish we could persuade 
dear Patrick that it would be best for all of us and 
for Blighty if he were not allowed in at meals.” 

After this Beryl had clear sailing for some time, 
and the first part of her narrative she condensed into 
as few words as possible so that Victoria could keep 
up with the story. 

“I made for the Stillorgan Road when I started 
out on my bike. We’ve driven that way when we’ve 
gone to Nina’s. You know the road that goes out 
toward Bray, the one with high stone walls all along 
and glimpses of fascinating places that must have 
lovely gardens in summer. I rode on and on for 
miles, simply skimmed along, I couldn’t tell you how 
far, when suddenly, pop 1 I had a puncture! There 
I was leagues from home and although the rain 
didn’t amount to much, still it was drizzling. I sat 
down by the side of the road with the mean old bike 


IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 229 

propped up beside me. It was open where I was 
and real country. I heard wheels creaking and along 
came a cart drawn by a fat little horse and driven 
by the nicest person I’ve met in Ireland. Her name 
is Della Dolough!” 

“What? Say it again!” exclaimed Joan. 

“Della Dolough. She’s fat and red-faced and 
wears a gray cloak. She wants us all to come and 
see her on her farm, and what do you think, it’s at the 
edge of Rock Valley and she says you can see Hawk 
House from her attic window. Her farm sounds 
perfectly fascinating. You know how I want one 
myself. Well, I was simply enthralled by the de¬ 
scription of hers.” 

“Did she tell you all about it there in the rain as 
you sat by the side of the road?” asked Christine. 

Beryl laughed. Her cheeks were very red from 
the wind, and she looked very different from the 
Beryl of the morning. 

“She saw the fix I was in and said right off that 
she could give me a lift and we put the bike in the 
back of the cart. There was room for it, though 
I don’t see now how we ever managed to find the 
space. Della was on her way into Dublin with 
produce for market in the morning. She raises 
things under glass in winter. She’s a person after 
my own heart; she has good common sense. She 
says she’ll teach me a lot about gardening. We had 
such a good talk coming in and became almost 
friends. It stopped raining and do you know it is 




230 PTisp—A Girl of Dublin 

queer in Ireland. Why, I can’t explain it, but all 
of a sudden it seemed to be summer! Everything 
was so green and there were wild roses budding and 
Della says primroses will be out next month, early 
in March. Yes, there is something about Ireland 
that is alluring!” 

“You said you’d had such a wonderful time. It 
doesn’t seem to me that very much did really hap¬ 
pen,” commented Joan over her pudding. 

Beryl looked at her meditatively. 

“I know it. It doesn’t sound much now that I 
tell about it. I think perhaps it was being like that 
right out in the country and yet so near the city, and 
it was sort of realizing that spring is really here when 
this morning everything seemed wintry and horrid,” 
she answered. 

. “I know why it is that Beryl’s so happy about 
meeting the woman on the Stillorgan Road, Vic. 
It’s because they’re interested in the same things, 
out-of-doors, but a sort of different out-of-doors than 
ours—animals, and planting, and all that. Berry 
found some one that understood just as we found 
Wisp,” Christine said to Victoria. 

“Yes,” her cousin answered gently. She was 
thinking of Jeffers Court and of the friends who had 
understood there that afternoon. She felt more 
and more sure that it had been better not to tell 
that evening. It would have been too cruel. Beryl 
coming home radiant with her afternoon, Beryl to 
whom she had spoken so crossly just that morning. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 231 

No, she could not have confronted her then with 
such bitter news. That night at any rate they must 
be together in the firelight, the others happy and she 
herself trying to hope. 

Wisp watched the clouds for a long time because 
she wanted more than she ever had before to see the 
star that was her friend. It came at last, blue fire 
winking at her between great gray clouds. Wisp 
always spoke to the star as though it was very 
near. 

“Dear Star, Christine and Beryl’s father mustn’t 
be lost. Watch over him and bring him back. I 
won’t wish about bein’ nice and ladylike any more. 
I’ll be willin’ to end me days at Jeffers Court if only 
the young ladies’ father isn’t lost,” she whispered to 
the star. 

To-morrow came and the hint of magic in the air 
which had come to Beryl the day before was closing 
in the sunshine, twittering in the faintly budding 
trees, and calling from green meadows and valleys. 
Wisp peered around the corner of Foggy’s butcher 
cart at the closed windows of 50 Fitzwilliam Square. 
She was so excited that her eyes shone brighter than 
ever and it seemed as though Foggy would never 
come back from the kitchen where he was delivering 
his meat and something else: a note that she had 
written to her friends. It was quite a little time and 
she knew it would be because he would have to wait 
until they wrote her an answer. This was her note: 




232 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Dear Miss Christine and all of you: 

Spring came to-day and Foggy’s the afternoon off and the 
loan of the cart and Jumbles. If I ain’t too bold maybe 
you would all come for a ride to Dalkey. Foggy knows 
the boatman who is cousin to him and maybe he’ll be after 
taking us a row over to the island. It do be queer on the 
island. I looked for the spelling of some of these here 
words out of Miss Beryl’s book. Send note please by 
Foggy and we’ll be a-waiting for you here at one o’clock. 

Wisp. 

Foggy handed Wisp the answer as he jumped up 
into the cart. He was almost as interested as his 
friend and listened eagerly as he flapped the reins 
and Jumbles started off. 

Dear Wisp: 

’Spring did come this morning. Isn’t it dandy? We can 
go, and it’s fine the way it’s working out. Miss Peck is 
spending the afternoon with the sister of her former pupil. 
Mrs. Mink is going to clean house upstairs. We’ll all be 
ready at one-thirty, can’t come before as we must have 
lunch. We will dodge out when Mrs. Mink is at the other 
side of the house. What fun! 

Christine. 

“They don’t know. Miss Victoria hasn’t told 
them. They’re cornin’! We’ll be after a-givin’ of 
’em a good day, Foggy! Ain’t it grand? Spring 
come and all of us off for Dalkey and maybe if ye can 
find yer friend, for the island, showin’ of ’em the 
island. Ain’t it good, Foggy?” 

Foggy nodded. “It do be rare fine to-day and the 
first day o’ March ain’t for two days yet.” His 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 233 

good-natured face was wreathed in smiles and he 
whistled with vigor as they made their way back 
toward the corner where he was to leave Wisp. 

At half past one they drew up in front of the 
Fitzwilliam Square house and after a very few mo¬ 
ments they all appeared. The girls came first and 
when Foggy saw that they were carrying baskets, 
he jumped down and lifted them up, shoving them 
under the front seat of the wagon. He had put a 
board in very neatly in the middle of the wagon so 
that it made another seat. Beryl and Joan sat with 
him in front and Victoria and Christine on the board. 
Wisp sat down beside Patrick, who curled up in the 
back of the cart. Patrick had Blighty with him, but 
no one had time to object and every one was tired of 
doing so. Blighty had gone everywhere with them 
except to St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Christmas Day, 
and it was taken for granted that he always would. 

Christine whispered to Victoria after they had 
started, “Isn’t this the funniest thing you ever did?” 

Victoria whispered back, “Yes, it’s like the sort of 
thing we do in dreams.” 

Victoria was very thankful about their going off 
for the rest of the day. She had been uneasy all the 
morning listening for the doorbell, fearing that an¬ 
other message might come and that the girls might 
find out the truth in a harsher way than her telling 
them would be, but there had only been lessons, say¬ 
ing good-by to Miss Peck who was leaving them for 
the afternoon, lunch, evading Mrs. Mink, who for- 


234 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

tunately was directing cleaning in the garden side of 
the house. Now they were off for Dalkey in the 
sunshine. There would be the happy afternoon and 
then Victoria told herself, Christine and Beryl must 
be told the truth. It could not be kept from them 
any longer. 

Blighty took a sudden fancy to Wisp and sat on 
her knee staring up at her and Wisp stared back at 
him. She never had dreamed of having a real mon¬ 
key going with her on a picnic. Wisp looked wist¬ 
fully at Christine whose yellow braids bobbed ex¬ 
citedly as she talked to her cousin and Foggy. Beryl 
had suggested that they drive out the Stillorgan Road 
as far as her adventure and then go cross country 
to the other road which would bring them to the sea 
and to Dalkey. Foggy agreed and so they were soon 
trotting along the firm, open road, under a sky as 
blue as the day Christine went with her friends on 
the sail down the Liffey. Jumbles trotted along at 
a great rate and they came to the open place where 
Beryl had had the puncture before they knew it. She 
was astonished to find it was not at all as far as she 
had thought. 

“Turn down the crossroad at the next turnin’, 
Foggy,” directed Wisp and then she said to herself, 
“I want ’em to come on the sea sudden like !” 

The crossroad was like a lane and so fragrant 
that it seemed as though it were a garden at mid¬ 
summer. There was the breath of fresh-budded 
wild roses, the sweetness of sun-warmed bracken and 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 235 

brush. Then mingled with all this suddenly was the 
fresh tang of the sea. They came upon it as unex¬ 
pectedly as Wisp had wished. It flashed a blue and 
gold welcome to them and they cried out and waved 
their hands toward it. 

“We might have asked Miss Nina, but maybe she 
wouldn’t have fancied cornin’,” said Wisp as they 
watched the glitter of the sun on the water and 
breathed in the message of the rollicking wind. 

“She would be bothering about what her aunt 
would say all the time,” Beryl answered. 

“Yes, it’s better to have Nina another time. We 
must be sure to be back by six so Pecky won’t worry. 
What would she say if she could see us now!” 
laughed Christine. 

“My dear, we are far too old to be tied to the 
apron strings of a governess all the time. It’s per¬ 
fect nonsense. I’m old enough to look after you all, 
if necessary. Goodness, any one would think we 
were all Patrick’s age!” sniffed Beryl, and she went 
on briskly: “Let’s forget Fitzwilliam Square and 
Pecky and all the stoggy things and have fun. I for 
one am not going to worry about anything. I’m 
going to enjoy life!” 

“So am I,” agreed Joan, and Patrick called out 
boisterously, “You bet I am!” 

Jumbles did not seem in the least tired as he trotted 
into the little village of Dalkey. The main street 
was almost deserted. Back from the road in the 
midst of an old churchyard stood the jagged ruins of 




236 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

a church, such an ancient church that it must have 
been just a ruin for centuries. 

Foggy pulled Jumbles up in front of a livery stable 
at the corner of the street and asked a man who stood 
in the doorway if Johnny McCarthy were anywhere 
about. For answer the man raised his voice calling, 
“Johnny?’ and a shock-headed boy appeared from 
the back of the stable, greeted Foggy cordially, and 
consented to take them all over to the island in his 
boat. Foggy’s face was wreathed in smiles as he 
turned to the others after a whispered consultation 
with his friend. 

“He’s his boat below and he’ll take us over. Good 
luck for us!” he exclaimed. Before they knew it 
they had said good-by to Jumbles who was to wait 
for them in a stable and all, including Blighty and the 
lunch baskets, were packed into Johnny’s boat and 
starting off to the island. Johnny’s father, the stable 
man, had not approved of the expedition. 

“It ain’t no day for takin’ a pack o’ kids across 
there. The sun ain’t goin’ to stay all day ye can 
mind that. What kind o’ a butcher boy is that 
Foggy? Why ain’t he in the city tendin’ to his work 
’stead o’ drivin’ way out here?” 

No one had minded Mr. McCarthy’s ill temper 
and they started across in high spirits. Johnny was 
to row them over and come for them again at five 
o’clock. It was then three and they would have two 
hours on the island: the blue-gray, enchanted-look- 
ing island that lay before them, Wisp’s island that 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 237 

she loved next best to Fairy Cottage. Her eyes 
shone with the joy of taking her new friends to see 
it and helping them to know it. 

The sea was purple and green and the sky as blue 
as Wisp’s eyes. The wind whisked about their faces 
as the boat began to dip down, down, and then, up 
and up. There was no doubt but that it was very 
rough. The advance guard of a March wind was 
with them and the sea seemed a part of the 
rollicking, happy day. It was free and boister¬ 
ous and naughty. It flapped and swished and 
roared. 

“Sit tight, please, all of yez,” ordered Foggy. He 
was a little fearful of the adventure. It was all very 
well driving them out a pleasant road to Dalkey, but 
it was another thing to cross in this wild sea to the 
strange island beyond, an island where there were 
no houses and, this time of year, no picnickers but 
themselves. Christine shut her eyes and held on 
tight. She felt a little dizzy and afraid, but she 
was able to look about her after a little and in spite 
of everything she felt the wonder of the sea. Beryl 
gloried in it all and sang as they dipped and plunged. 
She and Wisp and perhaps Johnny were the only 
ones in the boat who did enjoy the row. Wisp was 
perched on the bow, her hair flying in the wind be¬ 
hind her. She was far away in thought from Jef¬ 
fers Court, even from the rowboat and her friends. 
She was in the depths of a scraggy rock, swimming 
with mermaids! 


238 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Blighty was very difficult. He was frightened and 
instead of crouching under Patrick’s jacket, he 
wanted to be free. He struggled and scolded, wav¬ 
ing his paws frantically, and Victoria and Joan had 
to help hold him, talking to him severely in Hindoo- 
stani. They were all glad when they reached the 
island and gave Johnny a pressing invitation to stay, 
but he said his father had work for him to do. He 
was a rather stupid boy of fourteen. No one was 
sorry that he could not stay. 

The first hour on the island passed by like a flash. 
It was a splendid hour! They were so happy just 
in running about exploring, and drinking in the tang 
of the air. The sun was almost hot and the wind, 
though wild, was mild enough. The grass was viv¬ 
idly green, and all about them was the dancing swirl 
of the sea! 

Christine threw up her arms and exclaimed: “Oh, 
I’m so happy this afternoon I don’t know what to 
do! Isn’t this fun, fun, fun? We’re here on the 
island for a picnic. It’s a sort of wonder afternoon! 
If Beryl wouldn’t make her usual remark that I’ll 
never grow up, I’d say let’s pretend we’ve had a spell 
cast on us and that we can’t leave this island until a 
fairy prince comes to rescue us!” 

“Well, we can’t unless Johnny comes for us in 
the rowboat,” laughed Joan. 

“That’s so, I hadn’t thought of that,” answered 
Christine, trying to untie one of the heavy strings 
about the luncheon basket she had been carrying. 


IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 239 

Beryl came running up to them full of plans and 
excitement. 

“We’ve found the most wonderful place! Come, 
girls. We’re going to explore around the other 
side and then have tea almost on the sea, we can get 
so close to it. Isn’t it dandy here? You and Joan 
take that basket between you. I’m helping Foggy 
gather sticks for a fire so we can boil the kettle la¬ 
ter. There’s a tower over there, a Martello tower. 
Foggy knows about it. It’s almost as old as Ireland, 
and Rob Roy and other outlaws used to hide in it.” 
Beryl talked busily as the three went on across the 
rolling, bracken-covered ground. 

They watched the sea and the distant ships from 
the Martello tower and they found a tiny ruin clus¬ 
tered among rocks and ferns. They did not know 
what it was then. Afterward they found out that it 
was the ruin of a little oratory which centuries ago 
had been dedicated to a saint named Benedict. 

They had tea around the fire which Foggy had 
built in a very sheltered corner of a rock and Wisp 
suggested that each one of them tell something. So 
Victoria told about a dawn picnic in the Himalayas; 
Joan told about a fair she had gone to at Hydera¬ 
bad; Beryl, of a basket-ball game at school; Chris¬ 
tine, about making friends with a sailor on the boat 
coming over and some of the odd things he told her 
about the sea, and Patrick about how he first met 
Blighty. Wisp told this: 

“As we’re a-tellin’ of things that was after hap- 




240 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

penin’, maybe you’d like to hear o’ a dream o’ mine, 
for it was about this island. ’Twas soon after Foggy 
brought Peg and me out here on a holiday and it 
seemed so real, like it was true, so maybe you’ll for- 
git ’twas but a dream. I thought I was here on 
the island and it was most dark and I was all alone, 
but I wasn’t scared like, for there was a few stars 
and the sea. I was a-walking close to the little ruin, 
and sudden like I saw a light and in the archway 
there was some one dressed in a long robe. I walked 
on for a bit and I went into the tower and there was 
some one in a dark cloak and a wide hat with a long 
red feather. He was hidin’ in a corner! ’Twas 
Rob Roy maybe! Then sudden like I woke up!” 

“My, how funny, Wisp! Doesn’t the bread and 
butter taste good in this air? It’s a little chilly and 
I vote that we have a game of hide and seek or tag 
or something after tea,” said Beryl, and Christine 
laughed. 

“Well, as long as you suggested it and it isn’t too 
childish we will,” she answered. 

Foggy was looking off toward the mainland. “It 
do be a good hour over time,” he said, and his round 
freckled face looked worried. 

“An hour over time. Why, Foggy, what do you 
mean?” gasped Beryl. 

“Ye can’t mean it! It’s because o’ the wonder¬ 
ful time!” This from Wisp. 

“We’d better pack the baskets and be all ready!” 
suggested Beryl, and they all started to do so for it 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 241 

was growing dusky, and the darkness would fall sud¬ 
denly when it came. 

“Goodness, what will Pecky say? This is dread¬ 
ful,” Christine said to Victoria. “But it’s fun, 
though,” she added. 

It was some time before everything was packed up 
and in readiness, and it was quite dark, but the black 
spot on the water which would mean Johnny and the 
rowboat did not appear. It was late and dark and 
growing cold. The mainland seemed very far away 
under the starlight. Johnny had played them false 
and there was nothing to look forward to but a night 
on the island. 



XVIII.— The Night on the Island 

It dawned on all of them at once. The fact that 
they had been forgotten by Johnny, or at any rate 
the fact that he would not be crossing for them that 
night, was plain to each one of them. 

“It’s Johnny’s pa! He’s a-sendin’ of him on er¬ 
rands. Ain’t it awful?” Foggy’s face seemed to 
lose some of its roundness in his anxiety, as he looked 
from one to the other of them in his despair. 

They stood, all of them in a group, the packed 
lunch baskets in their midst. Darkness had quite 
fallen and except for the faint sounds of life from 
the mainland and the cry of a sea mew, there was 
no sound but the swish of the sea and the soft rush 
of wind through the bracken. 

242 


243 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Beryl was the first to speak. 

“Now cheer up, all of you! What a dismal crowd 
we are. There’s no use in crying about this. Just 
because for once something has really happened that 
isn’t connected with Pecky or lessons or stupidity, you 
all look as though the world had come to an end.” 
She turned toward Wisp as she spoke and she saw 
that her eyes were shining. 

“Wisp is happy,” went on Beryl, and as she spoke 
she put her arm about the little figure. For the first 
time they were drawn together and it was because of 
their understanding of the adventure. 

“Don’t you see,” Wisp said softly, and as she 
spoke she looked at Foggy’s worried face and smiled, 
“it do be a rare thing this, a fine wild happy time? 
It’s the sea and the stars and all outdoors at night 
and us friendly like, all of us together!” She lifted 
her hands above her head and looked up, still smil¬ 
ing at the sky. 

“We must make plans and have system about it 
all. Let’s look the facts in the face. We must stay 
here for the night and we might just as well not 
worry and have a good time. As far as I’m con¬ 
cerned it’s more fun than anything that’s happened 
in a long time. Let’s see what we have! Well, 
there’s the rug and the two pillows that I thought 
of the last moment!” She paused, looking down 
at the various things spread about on the ground at 
their feet. 


244 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“There are the two extra sweaters and we brought 
our extra coats,” put in Christine. 

Beryl sat down on the ground and began to open 
the biggest basket. 

“We can build a big fire, Miss Beryl. That will 
help to keep us warm,” said Foggy, cheering up at 
Beryl’s cheerful outlook of the situation. 

“That will be splendid,” Victoria answered him 
as Beryl nodded her head affirmatively, struggling 
with a knot in the string about the basket. 

“I’ll be after findin’ the biggest fagots there is and 
buildin’ a rare big fire,” announced Foggy, glad to 
have something to do. 

“They may see it from the mainland and come for 
us,” suggested Beryl, opening up the basket and tak¬ 
ing stock of the contents. 

“I thought o’ that, miss, but look off and see. The 
mist came sudden like after the darkness,” Foggy an¬ 
swered, pointing off to the frail gray cloud-like cur¬ 
tain between them and Dalkey. 

They all followed the direction of his finger and 
saw too plainly that what he said was true. They 
were indeed prisoners on an old island where the sea 
murmured all about them and the first rays of the 
moon gilded the ruin of the little oratory as old as 
the age of the Druids. 

Joan began to laugh and then they all laughed, and 
from then on it all became adventure and each one 
set out to do his or her share in making it a jolly 
time. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 245 

“It really is a lark, you know. It’s going to be 
wonderful fun! Cheer up, Blighty, you certainly 
look as glum as a funeral. The rest of us are going 
to enjoy life.” Beryl gave the monkey’s head a 
brisk little pat as she spoke. 

“He’s cold!” Patrick tried not to speak anx¬ 
iously, but he was very much concerned about his 
pet. 

“Oh, when we’re all sitting around the fire he will 
warm up. Foggy is piling up mounds of fagots and 
we can have a splendid fire that will last all night. 
It’s quite safe here between the rocks and we’ll be 
as cozy as can be,” Christine assured him. She was 
really excited and ready for all the fun they could 
think of. She put her arm around Patrick and gave 
him a little hug. He was such a little boy and just 
then looked so old-fashioned, holding Blighty close 
in his arms and looking up earnestly into his cous¬ 
in’s face. 

“You see, he’s always lived where it’s warm. 
Even in the hills it was never like this,” he said to 
Christine. 

“Come here everybody and listen to me please,” 
commanded Beryl and they all clustered about 
her, Foggy resting a moment from his fagot 
hunting. 

“I’ve looked everything over and we’re better off 
than I thought. There’s a loaf of bread and Cook’s 
loaves are big ones, and there’s butter. It’s splen¬ 
did that we decided to have a real country tea. 


246 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

There’s nearly a quarter of that huge jar of apricot 
jam left and some milk. The cake is gone, but it 
wasn’t very good. We have the frying pan, but as 
we’ve nothing to fry that isn’t much good to us!” 
Beryl gazed at it wistfully. They had fried eggs on 
it over the fire for tea. 

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Miss Beryl, I’ve a bit o’ sup¬ 
per in me pocket. I was after buyin’ it for Kath¬ 
leen and me, thinkin’ we’d have it at home after a 
seein’ of ye all safe back to the Square.” There was 
a little choke in Foggy’s voice. He felt very deeply 
his responsibility and it seemed to him that he had 
failed in taking proper care of the Fitzwilliam 
Square children. Like the others he had become en¬ 
grossed in the careless holiday afternoon and he had 
never for a moment dreamed that Johnny would 
not come rowing across for them at five o’clock as 
he had promised to do. 

He drew a package from his pocket and handed 
it to Beryl, who opened it and gave an exclamation 
of satisfaction. 

“Bacon, that’s just the thing! We can cook it on 
sticks over the fire the way we do at home on picnics. 
I’m so glad you had it, Foggy, and you mustn’t worry. 
None of this is your fault. We all trusted Johnny 
and he failed us. We might have known he would, 
he’s such a stupid-looking boy. It’s too bad about 
Pecky. I’m really sorry to have her worry. I hope 
she won’t telegraph to Uncle James!” As she spoke 
the last words Beryl sat back leaning on her hands 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 247 

and in spite of the consternation on the faces of the 
others, she laughed. 

Victoria put her hands in the pockets of her blue 
jacket and walked off a little way from the others. 
This last speech of Beryl’s had stirred her deeply. 
What would Uncle James think? The whole situ¬ 
ation was extraordinary. She had meant to tell Miss 
Peck when they returned in the evening. She knew 
that Wisp had planned the picnic to help things a 
little, to take them all out into the sunshine for the 
day. They had left a note for Miss Peck, saying 
simply that they were all off for some afternoon’s 
fun and would be back in time for dinner. Had she 
found word from Uncle James when she came back 
from seeing her friend? Poor Pecky, it was indeed 
a shame to worry her, but that seemed a small part 
compared with the suspense and anxiety about Ma¬ 
jor Langsley. Victoria was not sure but what she 
had done very wrong in keeping the news secret, but 
as she stood there under the stars she knew that she 
had meant to do right and that brought her a cer¬ 
tain comfort! 

Some one called her and she ran back to the others 
and was busy at once helping to carry things over to 
the far edge of the island. It was a sheltered place 
and on the side that was farthest away from the 
mainland. They had agreed that as they were shut 
in by the fog it would be more interesting to be off 
at the far end, quite away from sight or sound of 
land. 


248 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“It will be just as though we were on a desert 
island, leagues away from anything,” Victoria said 
delightedly as they began to arrange their camping 
place. 

“It’ll be like them old days so long ago before 
there was any folks but Druids about over there on 
the land,” put in Wisp, smiling across at Victoria, 
a teapot in one hand and a pillow in the other. 

“Oh, this is fun!” exclaimed Joan, hopping about 
in sheer glee. She was not as concerned as the others 
as to what “they” would say, “they” meaning Pecky 
and Uncle James and others in authority. 

“Glory! I just happened to think of Mrs. Mink. 
She will be more horrified than any one,” laughed 
Beryl. 

“That’s so, she will and I’m glad of it,” agreed 
Patrick, who could not forgive the housekeeper for 
disliking Blighty. 

Meanwhile Foggy had been busy with pillows and 
extra sweaters and had contrived a sort of cave-like 
shelter among the rocks. His fire was burning 
bravely and there was fuel to last the night. They 
had portioned off the food and found that with the 
hunk of cold bacon which could be sliced and fried 
they could make out very well for supper and break¬ 
fast. 

Victoria made Patrick put on his coat and her muf¬ 
fler. He was looking pale and she knew that though 
he did not say so, he was cold. As a matter of fact 
although night had fallen and they no longer had the 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 249 

friendly comfort of the sun, the wind had died down 
with the coming of the fog and in their shelter among 
the rocks they were fairly comfortable. The moon 
beamed upon them and seemed to say: “Children, 
children, I’ve looked down on this island many a 
time, but never before did I see anything like you at 
this hour. I’ve only seen the bracken and the rocks 
and the old tower and the ruin. This is a new sight 
for me, but I think I like it!’’ 

Victoria cut the bacon in delicate slices and they 
found that there would be enough left for breakfast. 
Beryl and Foggy used their pocket knives to put 
pointed edges on the sticks and each one cooked 
their own slices of bacon over the fire. It was a 
good while since tea and they were all as hungry as 
could be. There were three slices of bread for each, 
saving the same amount for breakfast. Wisp gave 
one of her slices to Joan who was so hungry she 
couldn’t talk. Foggy grew more cheerful as the 
jolly impromptu meal progressed and some of the 
care that had clouded his face gave place to enjoy¬ 
ment. After all, as Wisp had said, they were out 
under the stars with all outdoors around them. 

Wisp was very quiet throughout the meal and, af¬ 
ter it was finished, sat with her hands folded looking 
off at the moon-touched sea and the dim silence be¬ 
yond it. Christine in watching her saw the same ex¬ 
pression on her face that had been there when they 
had sailed down the Liffey. 

“Tell us something, Wisp,” she said softly. 


250 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Wisp smiled and turned her head toward Chris¬ 
tine. Then she looked off again at the quiet sea. 

“I was a-thinkin’ just then o’ somethin’ Auntie 
Moneypenny was after a-tellin’ me about.” She hesi¬ 
tated and then looked appealingly at the girls. “I’ve 
had three lessons and I speak as bad as ever. Me 
tongue is all twisted like,” she said apologetically. 

“We like the way you speak, it’s nicer than our 
way,” said Joan, and they all laughed and Christine 
looked at Joan approvingly. 

“That’s true, Joan. I like her way the best,” 
she said. 

“Go on with your story please, Wisp,” requested 
Victoria, and although she shrugged her shoulder and 
sighed a little impatiently, she took Blighty in her 
arms as Patrick held him out to her and sheltered 
him under the cape she wore over her jacket. 

“It wasn’t a story maybe, Miss Victoria. It’s 
somethin’ that did happen longer ago than when the 
ruin over there was built. It was Easter Eve I was 
a-thinkin’ of and it was the year 433 ,” Wisp an¬ 
swered her. 

“It couldn’t be as long ago as that, Wisp—why, 
that’s in the dark ages,” put in Beryl. 

Wisp still looked dreamily off at the sea and sky. 

“It was dark, yes. That was what I was a-thinkin’ 
of. It was all dark,” she said. 

“Don’t be so mysterious. Tell us about it, dol” 
Christine put her hand in Wisp’s and gave it a lit¬ 
tle squeeze as she spoke. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 251 

“It was about Saint Patrick I was a-thinkin’ of, 
about his cornin’ to Ireland, right to the heart of it, 
to the—the—” Wisp paused, wrinkling her brow, 
trying to think of the word. “What is that doty 
word auntie was a-tellin’ me?” she murmured. 

“Pagan?” suggested Beryl. 

“That’s it, pagan. He come a-sailin’ up Dublin 
Bay and it was on Easter Eve. He was cold and 
tired and it was very dark and a-rainin’. It was the 
night before the great feast of Tamhair and no light 
was let to shine in the whole o’ Ireland, for it was 
the time o’ the Druids, men as was a-prayin’ to idols, 
and until the king was after a-lightin’ o’ the fire on 
the green rath at Tara no human bein’ could put a 
flint to their home fire or anywheres about. You 
may be sure it was dark that March Easter Eve, 
some such a night like to-night it was, but there 
wasn’t a bit o’ a moon.” 

“Goodness, Wisp, isn’t it sort of creepy, what 
you’re telling us?” asked Beryl with a little 
laugh. 

Wisp shook her head. “No, it’s beautiful,” she 
answered. 

“Vic, let me have Blighty now,” said Patrick. 

“You’d better let me keep him, Paddy. He’s warm 
and comfy here under my cape.” Victoria smiled at 
her brother and he settled back again against a rock 
and was asleep before he knew it. It had been a 
long day for Patrick and he could not keep awake 
even to hear what Wisp was telling them. Foggy 


252 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

put his coat over his little friend and then Christine 
said eagerly, “Do go on, Wisp.” 

“I don’t believe I’ll sleep a wink to-night. I’m not 
the least bit in the world sleepy,” whispered Joan 
to her sister. 

“Saint Patrick and his few friends carme a-sailin’ 
along up Dublin Bay and as I was a-sayin’, it was a 
March night like to-night. They camped where they 
could see the Hill o’ Tara and there in the midst o’ 
darkness, deep loomy darkness, they lit a fire.” Wisp 
was silent after she said the last and her eyes were 
shining. There was no sound except the soft flap of 
the waves against the rocks. 

“He was sent for to come to Tara, and they say 
that many a miracle was after happenin’. Saint 
Patrick had such a way with him, o’ peace and light, 
that even Leary the king was after givin’ up fightin’ 
about his cornin’, and he was glad enough to git help 
with laws and other things. What I like best is his 
a-comin’ that way at night, in the dark, Easter Eve, 
too, and darin’ to build a big brush fire right where 
the Druids was a-worshipin’ of their idols,” Wisp 
went on. 

How strange it was! All of them were on the 
lonely island listening to a tale about Saint Patrick 
who had sailed the very waters that sang about them 
there in the moonlight! Victoria sat next to Wisp, 
and when the others were moving about after she had 
finished her little story, she whispered to her: 

“They don’t know about their father. Doesn’t 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 253 

it seem almost wrong not to have told them? They 
will have to know,” and Wisp answered her: 

“It was right happenin’ this way, I think. They’ll 
have this bit to remember before the trouble comes. 
I was a-thinkin’ o’ it all a-lookin’ up at the stars 
just now.” 

Foggy was almost as tired as Patrick and had 
curled up under the rock beside him and was asleep. 
The girls decided to walk up and down for they were 
stiff and cold and not sleepy. They were careful not 
to go out of sight of the camp as they called it, for 
they knew that if they were lost they would not find 
it easy to retrace their steps. They went down close 
to the sea and after they had thrown pebbles out into 
the water and sung a number of songs, they lay 
down with their cloaks around them, and before they 
knew it were asleep. 

The sun was hot on their faces when they awoke. 
They sat up, all four of them, almost at once and 
saw what had awakened them. It was a rowboat 
coming rapidly toward the island and the calls from 
the boat and Foggy’s eager answers had brought 
them out of dreamland. Some one had come to res¬ 
cue them, and an instant later Victoria gave a shout 
and waved her hands and arms calling, “Keith! 
Keith! Keith!” 

It was true, though they could hardly believe it. 
There in the boat, rowing with all his might, was 
Keith and as soon as he was within earshot he called, 
“It’s all right!” 


254 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Good news,” and almost before he reached the 
shore it seemed he was in their midst and was pat¬ 
ting Beryl and Christine on the shoulders so ener¬ 
getically that they did not know what to make of 
it. 

“It’s all right! I came over to tell you all about 
it; caught a boat that reached Kingstown this morn¬ 
ing. Uncle James wanted to come himself, though 
of course he wired at once. Uncle Charles is safe, 
quite safe, and the cable said, ‘Condition rapidly 
improving.’ ” 

Beryl and Christine looked at him in such sur¬ 
prise that they could not speak. They had thought 
that he had been sent to find them all and instead 
of showing any surprise at their situation he was 
talking to them about their father’s being safe. Be¬ 
fore they could speak Victoria burst into tears and, 
sitting down on the rock nearest her, buried her 
face in her hands and sobbed: 

“They didn’t know! I didn’t tell them! I 
couldn’t! I saw the wires when they came ! I have 
them in my pocket now! Oh, I’m so happy! I am 
so glad now I didn’t tell!” 

It was some time before all was understood. Each 
one explained in turn, and Beryl and Christine knew, 
after it was all over, what suspense and anxiety their 
relatives had been in. Above all, they knew that 
their father had been in grave danger, but had been 
found at last and, though wounded, was out of 
danger. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 255 

When the first excitement and explanations were 
over Keith listened to their story of the holiday ride 
and the row to the island, of Johnny’s desertion and 
their having been all night camping out. He then 
told them of having met the culprit Johnny, at Kings¬ 
town. Keith had helped him with two very heavy 
valises that he was carrying up from the boat, for it 
was his usual task to meet the boats at Kingstown, 
the next station to Dalkey. He told Keith that he 
must hurry home and row over to Dalkey Island 
where he had rowed a party of children the after¬ 
noon before; a party of little ladies and a boy, and 
his friend Foggy and a girl with fly-away gold hair 
and a monkey. His father had sent him on an er¬ 
rand and he had been so sleepy that he had quite 
forgotten them all. He was sure they would be 
mad with him, and indeed he did not blame them, 
for it would be a rare ghostly thing, spending a night 
on Dalkey Island. 

“When he said a girl with fly-away hair and a 
monkey I guessed at once. I told him to bring me 
here, and made him give me the boat to row over 
for you. I say, you’ve fallen into a nice scrape. 
Wait till Uncle James hears about it all!” Keith 
was beginning to be quite worked up about the 
affair now that he began to think it over, but he 
was very hungry and agreed with the others that 
they had better have breakfast before doing any¬ 
thing else. He was soon cooking a piece of bacon 
over the fire, listening to their adventures and laugh- 


256 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

ing over Blighty, who looked bored and cross and 
evidently preferred Fitzwilliam Square to the island. 

While the others were cooking breakfast Beryl 
and Christine went off alone talking gravely of their 
father. They were filled with deep gratitude not 
only for his safety and for the good news of his 
definite recovery from his wounds, but also because 
Victoria had not told them and they had been spared 
what would otherwise have been for them the saddest 
forty-eight hours they had ever known. Their 
hearts were so full of gratitude that they did not 
even stop to wonder what welcome would await 
them all at home. 



XIX.— The Fairy Hill 

It was a sort of Alice In Wonderland morning! 
The row across to Dalkey, Keith at the oars, and 
Blighty watching him from the bow, saying good-by 
to Wisp and Foggy and Jumbles as they rode off 
toward the city in the butcher’s cart. Then the 
uninteresting train journey on to Dublin, and the 
arrival at the Square! 

Foggy had shown such concern about the whole 
thing that Keith had slapped him on the shoulder 
and said, “Don’t worry, old man. You’re not to 
blame!” As for Wisp, she was so happy about the 
news of Major Langsley that she could think of 
nothing else, and as she turned for a last wave of 
the hand to the others her face shone with joy. 

257 


258 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Perhaps the star helped to find them!” she said 
to Foggy on the way home. 

Foggy, who was used to her odd remarks, was 
not surprised at what she said, and exclaimed for 
himself: “They do be a good lot, all o’ ’em. Blighty 
and all! Not a word o’ blame and all of ’em 
cheerful like. I ain’t a-goin’ to let ’em think I ain’t 
ready to take a scoldin’. I’m goin’ myself to the 
governess lady and tell her just how it was.” 

“I’m a-goin’, too,” said Wisp. 

The home-coming was not as dreadful as they had 
expected. Miss Peck had spent an anxious night, 
but she had known that whatever had happened there 
was safety in numbers and that they must be all 
together somewhere. She waited until morning 
before deciding just what to do, and they were all 
at the house before eight o’clock, explanations were 
given and the muddle was straightened out. The 
governess had been dazed by Uncle James’s wire 
which had come very late the night before, and like 
the others was so thankful at the happy outcome of 
the trouble connected with the father of Beryl and 
Christine that she, too, felt the escapade to have 
been only an incident. 

Everything else was swallowed up in relief over 
Major Langsley and except for Mrs. Mink’s horror, 
which was unbounded, the adventure passed over 
without any undue excitement. Foggy and Wisp did 
go to Miss Peck, and they found her as kindly and 
understanding as she had been on Christmas Eve. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 259 

“There really isn’t any reason for keeping it a 
secret from Pecky about Wisp’s lessons. She would 
be glad to help her, too,” Joan said one evening a 
little later. 

“All the fun would be gone if it wasn’t a secret,” 
the others had assured her, and she had to admit 
this to be true. 

Keith had returned to school the day after he 
came over. There had been another reassuring 
cable about Major Langsley and things had settled 
down again to normal. Rainy days came along as 
April drew near, but it was a soft, warm rain that 
nobody minded. The hawthorn trees in the garden 
were deeply pink and pearly white, violets peeped 
up through the grass, and golden tulips danced in 
the gentle breeze all along the foot of the old brick 
wall. 

Blighty was in his element now, spending hours 
in the garden, scaling the wall and spending much 
of his time gibbering at an irate terrier in the next 
garden. His favorite tree was the hawthorn tree 
close to the Secret Room window and he would 
swing himself up into its sweet fragrance whenever 
the spirit moved him. 

They had one or two meetings in the Secret Room, 
but out-of-doors called them so urgently that interest 
waned, and at the second meeting Wisp made this 
suggestion: 

“Maybe the best o’ the weather will be after 
waning a bit. Might we be havin’ the next lesson off 



260 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

in the outdoors? I have it—Kilmaslogue! I told 
ye,” she turned toward Christine as she spoke. “I 
told ye o’ the fairy hill. It’s just out Rathfarnham 
way. If the governess lady would be after trustin’ 
us we could go!” 

Kilmaslogue! The fairy hill! They would go 
for a long day and they would find out more of 
Ireland. The island had taught them something 
and they wanted to know more. Spring was calling 
them and they would go! 

It was not so easy to persuade Miss Peck that 
it was right for them to go off for the whole after¬ 
noon. They decided to tell her and oddly enough 
it was Beryl who persuaded her. 

“Don’t you see, Pecky, that we must go? Why, 
we’re just beginning to find out what Ireland is! We 
must have adventures. I, for one, hope we’ll have 
a great many. No harm came of our being on the 
island. We’ve heard from Wisp of Kilmaslogue 
and we must see it.” Beryl spoke firmly. 

Miss Peck smiled, but she said, “I can’t see what 
you find so interesting about the little Cuff Street 
girl. I’m sure your Uncle James would not approve 
of her at all.” 

In spite of her objections Miss Peck gave her 
consent and even persuaded Aunt Witheringhaugh 
to allow Nina to join them. 

“As they say, they are really old enough to look 
after themselves and there are so many of them. A 
picnic near Rathfarnham cannot bring them any 


26 i 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

harm and they seem so set upon going.” The gov¬ 
erness did not mention Wisp and Foggy, for she 
knew that Aunt Witheringhaugh was an eccentric 
and fussy woman, and she might very much disap¬ 
prove of Nina’s knowing a little girl and boy who 
lived in a place called Jeffers Court. Miss Peck had 
heard them singing Christmas Eve and, though she 
had not admitted it, she herself had rather a soft 
place in her heart for them. 

They had a consultation in the Secret Room about 
the picnic, on whether or not they should ask Miss 
Peck. 

“I believe she would love to come and we could 
let her sit and knit while we roam off and do as we 
like,” suggested Christine. 

“I think, personally, that it would be simply flat,” 
said Beryl. 

“So do I,” agreed Victoria, and as Christine 
thought so herself in her inmost heart, nothing more 
was said about the governess joining them. 

“She’s a dear about Wisp. I mean she was really 
awfully nice about the island and all, but she does 
think it’s odd, our wanting to do things with her. 
What would she say if she knew of the lessons and 
all?” Joan peered out of the Secret Room window 
as she spoke. 

Christine came and stood beside her looking out. 
Instead of the bare trees and brown garden beds 
they saw the cheerful rows of gold and red tulips 
and the glory of the hawthorn trees. 


262 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“To-morrow we’re really going out to see the 
spring,” Christine said half to herself. 

To-morrow was a blue-gray day, more blue than 
gray. It was gold, too, and as they drove behind 
Jumbles toward Rathfarnham it seemed as though 
it was only golden, for all along the way were labur¬ 
num trees in full bloom, trailing their yellow branches 
to the ground. 

They sat in the cart in the same order as before 
except that Nina, resplendent in an ugly new blue 
dress, “just the wrong color, poor child, but she 
didn’t know it,” as Beryl said afterward to Chris¬ 
tine, sat between Christine and Victoria on the board 
back of the seat. Nina was bewildered by the whole 
experience. She never tired of hearing about the 
island and knew each incident by heart. To have 
actually had such an adventure seemed to her impos¬ 
sible beyond words; to be jogging along in a 
butcher’s cart toward something that they called a 
“fairy hill” was in itself something almost impossible 
to fathom! 

Children called to them from the roadside as 
they passed through Rathfarnham, waving their 
hands and running along beside the cart. Foggy 
flourished his whip at them good-naturedly, then 
turning to the right they drove around the edge of 
the village and at once found themselves on a country 
highway with the faint gray blue of mountains 
ahead of them, on either side of them green meadows 
laughing in the sunshine. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 263 

“Hear the brook! It’s going right along with 
us. Isn’t it precious?” exclaimed Victoria. 

“Stop, will ye please, Foggy?” said Wisp, and her 
friend obediently drew rein. Wisp was out of 
the cart in a flash and running over to the silver, 
gurgling, twisting stream that bordered in zigzag 
fashion the right side of the road, she knelt and 
gathered something, coming back and holding out a 
mass of pale gold blossoms to her friends. 

“Primroses! This is where they’re after startin’ 
and we’ll have ’em with us from now on all the rest 
o’ the way. They do be havin’ their mornin’ wash. 
See their wee faces is wet!” Wisp laughed de¬ 
lightedly as she laid her offering gently in Christine’s 
lap. 

It seemed as though the primroses brought them 
such sudden joy that from then on they were ready 
for any happy thing that might come their way. They 
may have been driving in a butcher cart down a 
sunny country road, but it seemed more as though 
they were swinging along a golden way to fairy¬ 
land. The winding yellow border of the brook 
stayed with them all the way. There was an arch¬ 
way of pink and white may above them and the 
hill which towered beyond them held a hint of mys¬ 
tery. Kilmaslogue! Known since the beginning 
of time, almost, as the fairy hill! 

Foggy tethered Jumbles to a tree when they came 
to the foot of the hill, but he gave him plenty of 
room to roam about and nibble the sweet young 


264 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

grass. Then, carrying the two heaviest baskets, he 
started to show them the way up the hill. Wisp 
ran in front of him looking back and smiling. 

“I do dream o’ showin’ them the hill. Let me 
lead the way,” she said, and like a woodland sprite 
she was always just a little ahead of them during 
the gradual climb up Kilmaslogue. 

Foggy gave a hand to each in turn, putting down 
his baskets and helping them over a rough place 
here and there, but Wisp did not need his help. 
She knew every inch of the way and loved it. As 
she took Christine’s hand to help her once she 
whispered: 

“I’m a-thankin’ o’ the star in me heart. I was 
after sayin’ to it as how I wanted to show ye the 
fairy hill.” 

They stopped before they reached the top, decid¬ 
ing to go on up later on; to roam about and do just 
as they liked for the rest of the day. They chose 
a hollow high up overlooking a vast sweep of coun¬ 
try. All about them on each side and at the back 
was the forest, and from their resting place they 
could see the sunlit wood aisles and hear the scamper 
of wild wood things, startled by their arrival. Be¬ 
yond where the sunshine could not penetrate there 
was a sweep of gold, a wild stretch of primroses 
and cowslips helping with their gentle loveliness to 
lighten the somber gloom. 

Blighty was in far better humor than he had been 
on the Dalkey adventure and sat quietly gazing about 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 265 

him as though he, too, realized that this hill was 
different from any other and that there was enchant¬ 
ment in the spring air. Foggy had thought of 
something which proved to be a great help in bring¬ 
ing Blighty up the hill. He persuaded him to sit 
on top of the baskets he was carrying, and it worked 
very well, for he sat good-naturedly where Foggy put 
him, and though Patrick walked beside him expect¬ 
ing every moment that he would swing off on some 
tempting branch, he did not do so. 

They stayed in the hollow for a long time. It 
was so beautiful, just there, and it was Ireland in 
the spring. As far as they could see all down the 
hill toward the blue-shadowed valleys were mists 
of pink and white, a mingling of deep rose and palest 
pink, cherry trees and apple trees and always the 
pink and white may. Below the pearly sunset- 
colored trees were drifts of old and deep flashes of 
blue, shading here and there to gray and mauve and 
purple as wild violets mingled with the unearthly 
brilliance of a first carpet of bluebells. 

Foggy knew there was no place in the world as 
beautiful as Kilmaslogue in April, but he had been 
up since five o’clock and he had carried a heavy 
load up the hill after a long morning’s work. He 
was so sleepy that, after a hasty glance at the glory 
all about him, he put his cap over his eyes and went 
to sleep. Blighty settled down beside him and after 
blinking one eye followed his example and was 
asleep almost as quickly. They lay under a pale 



2 66 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

rose hawthorn bush, with baskets around them, and 
in their way enjoyed the beginning of the holiday 
afternoon as much as the others. 

Patrick was not in the least sleepy and would have 
liked to go on up to the top of the hill at once. As 
it was a straight path from the hollow to the top and 
they could see him now and then through the trees 
as he climbed, Victoria told him he could go on up 
if he liked as long as he was not out of earshot. 
They were all glad to have him go, for when he 
was excited he asked a great many questions and 
was noisy. 

It was so warm in the early afternoon sun that 
they did not need their jackets and lay back on the 
soft moss, propping themselves against two stalwart 
oaks that stood guard in their hollow. 

Almost before she realized what she said Chris¬ 
tine turned to Wisp, who sat a little in the shadow, 
looking off at the vast stretches of light and shadow 
that swept over the soft valleys below, and as Chris¬ 
tine watched her she saw that her eyes were filled 
with great wistfulness, and that there was about 
her the look as though she were dreaming and weav¬ 
ing fancies; it was the look that had been with her 
on the barge. 

“Won’t you tell us something, Wisp?” asked 
Christine. 

Wisp nodded and lifting her arm swept it slowly, 
pointing off toward the south. 

“That way beyond them mountains is Wicklow 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 267 

and Kilkenny, Arlow and Wexford. If we was 
after havin’ the eyes we could see north to Ulster 
and west as far as the Shannon. Some day I’m 
goin’ to see all o’ Ireland—everything!” She looked 
off as though trying to see, far away, more of the 
beauty of the country that she loved. 

“Tell us something else, Wisp,” begged Joan, and 
Wisp smiled as she answered her. 

“I’ll gladly tell ye a tale I made up in me mind 
one night in Fairy Cottage if it is that ye all would 
wish to hear.” 

“Tell us, please! That’s splendid!” was the 
girls’ reply. 

“It’s too bad for Foggy and Patrick not to hear 
it,” said Joan. 

“Foggy, he knows it well, Miss Joan, and here 
comes Master Patrick a-runnin’ down the path,” 
Wisp answered. 

Soon they were all sitting still in the sunshine, 
listening, and this is the story that Wisp had made 
up in Fairy Cottage and which she told to them 
that afternoon on the fairy hill: 

THE BOG AND THE HILL 

“For twenty miles or so off toward the west it’s 
country like this. Then comes a long, wide bog. I 
ain’t seen it. I ain’t been that far, but I’m a-goin’ 
all round that way some time. The land about 
there is sad like and gray, and though all round it 






268 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

is the grand country it do be lonely like. I was 
a-thinkin’ o’ it one day up here last spring and it was 
that same night at home I was after makin’ up the 
tale. 

“I ain’t goin’ to say, ‘Once on a time,’ for me story 
is these times now. 

“There’s a nice farmhouse off River Shannon 
way and in it lives a big family named McCarthy. 
There do be seven children in the family, but the 
ones the story is about is Shan and Sheila and they 
do be twins. The story is about what happened to 
’em last year and the fairies in it is the kind that 
is round nowadays. Shan and Sheila always played 
together. They was fond o’ each other’s company 
and they didn’t see much o’ the rest o’ their brothers 
and sisters. 

“One evenin’ last spring after milkin’ time (my, 
but I’d like to have a cow o’ me own) they was a 
sittin’ each with a jug o’ new milk and a chunk o’ 
soda bread on a low stony hedge at the far end 
of their father’s farm. Sudden like, they saw a 
girl cornin’ toward them and she had on a brown 
dress. She was a-carryin’ of a bowl as blue as 
the sky. She was about their own age, maybe ten, 
or so. In the bowl was strawberries as red as sun¬ 
set after a heavy rain. She held out the bowl to 
them and says sweet like, ‘Take some o’ the berries, 
won’t ye?’ 

“And they each took a handful and ate ’em and, 
before they knew it, they was a-walkin’ with the girl 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 269 

far along the road. They must have walked a 
good bit for it all looked strange like, dark and 
bleak, and then they thought o’ the bog that lay 
way beyond their father’s land, and which they was 
forbidden to go near for it was all marshy like, 
and dark and bad. The gold furze it tried to bloom 
there every year, but it died and the wild fowl made 
strange cries as they flew across it. 

“Sheila cried out, ‘The ground is after gettin’ 
soft. We’re near the bog, but how did we come 
so far?’ 

“And Shan cried, ‘She walked so fast she brought 
us to the bog.’ 

“Then Sheila cried, ‘I’m slippin’ in. I want to 
git out.’ 

“And the girl in the brown dress with the blue 
bowl o’ strawberries laughed mean like, and calls 
out to ’em: ‘Ye’re in Bogland where Guiderwack is 
king! He has sent for ye and ye’re to come to 
Black Castle to live!’ 

“ ’Twas true enough! There ahead o’ ’em was a 
tall black castle and on the top o’ it was a tower. 
Before they knew it they was walkin’ into the court 
and goin’ up the stairs, and the girl in the brown 
dress took them into a big room, and on a kind o’ 
throne sat Guiderwack!” 

Wisp glanced at Patrick, who was watching her 
open-eyed. 

“The happy part comes soon. It ain’t all black 
and gianty,” she reassured him. 




270 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“I like the gloomy part,” said Patrick stoutly. 

“Guiderwack was big, like all giants, and he had 
a round face. He was dressed in red and his face 
was so high up that his voice sounded a long way 
off. He was after a-tellin’ Sheila and Shan as how 
they must keep all the rules in Bogland and it would 
be the worse for them if they didn’t. He told them 
they would have to go out and bring in children the 
way the girl in the brown dress was after doin’. 
Then he waved his hand and told ’em to go out. 

“They was sad days for the two o’ ’em. It was 
all gray and dark and they had black bread to eat. 
One day Sheila said to Shan, ‘If I could but sleep 
in me own bed and see me mother! If I could but 
sip a cup o’ cocoa!’ 

“One day the girl in the brown dress whom they 
liked a little bit after they knew her said the giant 
wanted them to go out and bring in some children 
to Bogland, and because they would not go they was 
shut up in the tower. They looked out o’ the win¬ 
dow and for the first time they was able to see high 
up, and they saw a lovely hill like this one. It was 
all red and purple and gold with the gorse and 
heather, and up at the very top o’ it a light was 
shinin’. They watched the light and with all their 
hearts they was a-wishin’ they was over there on 
the lovely hill. 

“Sudden like, the light began to move, and after 
a bit, ’stead o’ just bein’ a tiny gold light, it was 
bigger like a bird, and soon it came so close they 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 271 

could see it was a strange creature, and when it 
flew right up to their window it spoke to them. 

“ ‘I’m called Whizz, dear children, and I’m the 
airship o’ the Fairy Queen. For many a moon I’ve 
watched this window for to come and take Guider- 
wack’s captives to the fairy hill, but they always 
obey the giant and go out and bring in other chil¬ 
dren and so we cannot help them. Ye are the first 
ones as has refused to go out after children, and to 
reward ye the Fairy Queen has sent me for ye.’ As 
Whizz spoke he kind o’ bumped against the window 
and the bars fell away. 

“Before they knew it, Shan and Sheila was a-sittin’ 
on the Whizz’s back, flyin’ through the air, and it 
was just grand to be floatin’ along with Bogland 
and Black Castle and Guiderwack gettin’ farther 
and farther away. It was fine landin’ on the top o’ 
the fairy hill with all the sky and the heather and 
the fairies, wee, silver-winged fairies, each one o’ 
’em prettier than the last. They spent a week there 
dancin’ and eatin’ fairy buns and cocoa out o’ gold 
cups, and meetin’ all the strange, nice fairy folks up 
and down the hill. Then one day they said they 
wanted to go home, so they said good-by to the 
queen and all the court and Whizz buzzed up to the 
top o’ the hill. They jumped on his back and was 
off home. But that ain’t all. Whizz promised to 
come back once a year and take them for a visit 
to fairy hill, and they never saw the bog or the 
giant again!” 


272 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

They all agreed that they liked the story, and 
then jumped up, eager to see their own fairy hill. 
Patrick was almost sure he heard Whizz buzzing 
near by, but instead of the Fairy Queen’s aeroplane 
it proved to be an army plane out for exercise! 

They decided to have supper at the tip-top of the 
hill and ate their sandwiches and drank their milk 
among the sweet ferns and primroses. Foggy woke 
up full of energy and taught Patrick how to make 
whistles out of birch twigs, danced an Irish break¬ 
down, sang and packed baskets, brought out his 
knife and cut ferns and flowers and tied them to¬ 
gether; in short, was his usual helpful, jolly self. 
He was very careful to start home in time and 
there was no adventure on the way. 

“We didn’t really see any fairies, but it was a 
fairy hill just the same,” Christine said to Victoria 
that night. 

“Wisp was the real fairy,” Victoria answered 
her. 



XX.— The Cricket Ball Finds Them Out 

The February days had been the darkest and 
least pleasant, but the April days were the jolliest 
and the sun tried to shine as brightly as in June. 
There were wonderful days of misty sweetness with 
the odor of flowers and fresh growing things every¬ 
where. 

Keith arrived for his holidays with a cold and 
even Victoria had to admit that he was cross. 
Nothing quite suited him and he even dared to tell 
Mrs. Mink that she was no kind of a housekeeper 
as she had the same pudding three times in one 
week. They were all impressed by this and grate 
ful to Keith when instead of semolina pudding a 
jolly trifle topped with whipped cream made an 
appearance the next night for dinner. Keith spent 
273 



274 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

most of his first week of vacation lounging on the 
grass in the garden mending a football. He would 
condescend to play cricket with Patrick occasionally, 
but on the whole he was decidedly unsociable. 

“I suggested going to the Zoo again as we did 
at Christmas time and having tea over the monkey 
house. He liked the peach jam so much and that 
is such a jolly tea room, but he said ‘Rot’ when I 
spoke of it,” Joan confided to the girls, and Victoria 
answered slowly, looking seriously out of the Secret 
Room window: 

“It’s the war, I think. He’s worried and he wants 
so to go out and fight. If only he wasn’t just 
fifteen!” 

“You mean you wish that he could go, that he 
were old enough to go?” Beryl asked her incredu¬ 
lously, and she answered, “Yes.” She was a sol¬ 
dier’s daughter and had always been one. Perhaps 
that is why she answered so. 

The class for that time was over and they had 
all been busy planning the next, which was not to be 
indoors at all, but in some enchanting, spring-filled 
place in the country. They had been trying to decide 
where they would like best to go and Nina had 
suggested the Rocky Valley. Wisp had nodded 
approval. How little they knew, the other children 
there in the dusky Secret Room, what the Rocky 
Valley had meant to their friend from Jeffers Court! 
They did not know and they never could know, and 
with all her sweetness and her love for them Wisp 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 275 

did not wish that they ever should. She had run to 
it in sorrow and anger; she had known the shelter 
of its good green grass, the homely comfort of its 
rocks and hedges. Out of filth and noise and wran¬ 
gling she had come to watch the blue hills from its 
height, this strange wild bit of land so near to a 
big city. 

“I ain’t deservin’ o’ a picnic for the next lesson. 
I ain’t—I— 1 ’ 

“Am not,” corrected Beryl. 

“I am not a good pupil. I can only say four 
poems without twistin’ the words, but I’m a-tryin’ 
—I—” 

Something bounced into the room, nearly hitting 
Christine in the nose and causing Nina to give one 
of her funny little shrieks. 

“What on earth ! Why, it’s Patrick’s cricket ball! 
Girls, it’s sailed in here and they’ll wonder where 
on earth it is. Look! There’s Blighty 1 ” Nina 
was carried out of her usual shyness by the episode 
and ran over to the open window as she spoke and 
the others followed her, watching Blighty, who 
grinned at them from a branch of the hawthorn 
tree which grew close to the window. 

“He saw the ball and swung himself up. Come 
in, Blighty, as quick as you can, or you’ll give away 
our Secret Room,” said Victoria, reaching out to 
catch him, but he was off like a flash, giving an 
aggravating shriek as he went. The next moment 
there was a heavy swaying of the branches and 



27 6 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Keith swung himself to the window ledge and like 
Blighty sat for a moment staring in at them. Then 
he caught himself by throwing one leg over the 
window sill and jumped down into the room. 

He and Patrick had been playing cricket in the 
garden and the ball had found out the Secret Room! 
Keith stood looking from one to the other of them 
in astonishment and Blighty, who had climbed up 
on his shoulder, reflected his look, and it was almost 
as disapproving as Keith’s. 

“What are you up here for, and what are you 
doing?” Keith asked, turning to Victoria, who 
smiled one of her rare smiles and going over to 
the table where Wisp was sitting, stood near her. 

“We’re having lessons for Wisp. She teaches 
us so many things and tells us such lovely stories 
and makes us love Ireland so, that we want to do 
something for her,” she answered him. 

“How long has this been going on?” her brother 
asked, frowning at her in a way which though it 
looked ferocious did not seem to alarm her in the 
least. 

“We’ve had the lessons since February, but we’ve 
not been able to all be together as often as we’d 
like. We—” 

“No, I suppose not! You’ve had to do it on the 
sly when you knew Miss Peck would be out, because 
you knew she would not approve of it. She and 
Uncle James and, as for that, mother and father 
would be pleased, wouldn’t they, to have you have a 



IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 277 

Cuff Street child for your best friend!” Keith 
stopped short after he had said this last because of a 
look in Victoria’s eyes. He had seen the look once 
before when they were younger, in India, and then 
as now he had stopped his angry words. 

While he was speaking Wisp had slipped down 
from off the table and had moved toward the door, 
standing near it, her hands folded lightly before 
her, looking up at him. 

“Keith, you hateful old thing!” exclaimed Joan, 
her dark eyes snapping. 

They had left the door half open when they had 
come up to the Secret Room and in the instant that 
they turned reproachfully to Keith, Wisp slipped out. 
It was only the briefest moment. She was hardly 
gone before they knew it and they were after her, 
all of them except Victoria, before she could have 
reached the last step, but she was as quick as wind, 
as light as air, and by the time they reached the 
tradesman’s entrance walk she was out of sight. 

When the others had left Victoria stood facing 
her brother. She was very still, a way she had of 
being when she was angry, but she was trying to 
keep back the words that rushed to her lips. Keith 
looked sheepish and uneasy, and when you read this 
you must not judge him too harshly. You see he 
did not know. Wisp as the others did or as we do. 
He knew her, except for the carol singing Christ¬ 
mas Eve, only as a girl selling flowers at College 
Green, a child with wildly blowing, ragged, gold-red 



278 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

hair. He did not know of Fairy Cottage or Auntie 
Moneypenny, or the star. He did not know of the 
class at Jeffers Court or of anything that made 
Wisp what she was. He had a toothache and was 
worried. The responsibility of his brother and 
sisters rested heavily on his shoulders. He had been 
with them just that one day when he had come to 
tell them the good news of Major Langsley and he 
had not thought so much about their escapade on 
the island until he was back at school again. He 
felt, on thinking it over, that they were not at all 
in good company and as he felt so much older than 
the rest of them and more experienced, he felt it 
was his duty to look after them. He was sorry as 
he stood there in the Secret Room with Victoria 
that he had spoken as he did, but he did not know 
how to say so, and so he was off out of the window 
with Blighty following him in the twinkling of an 
eye. 

Wisp had known trouble, but she had never had 
anything hurt her as Keith’s words had done. It 
was not so much what he said as the way he said 
it. “A Jeffers Court child”—that is what she was. 
There was no other word to use, and as fast as 
she could go she was flying back to it. 

She did not stop running until she reached the 
green, and then she only stopped for a moment on 
the rustic bridge to rest. She scarcely saw the beauty 
of the daffodils, the scarlet joy of the tulips. Then 
after a second she ran on again, up Cuff Street, turn- 



Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 279 

ing into Jeffers Court. She could not run up the 
stairs. She had to take them slowly until she reached 
the next to the last flight, but as she reached the 
foot of the stairs there on the second landing, some¬ 
thing caught her eye and like a flash she was up 
the top flight, standing on the landing and staring 
in horror and bewilderment at the sight before her. 
There was no longer any Fairy Cottage! 

Some boards lay on the floor and near them the 
pink and white bath mat, the blue curtain, the cook¬ 
ing tin, and the cushion. Some way off were the 
copy books of brown paper, a pencil, and a few odds 
and ends, but the thing which Wisp had seen from 
the foot of the stairs was the gold and rose gleam¬ 
ing of the scarf that Victoria had given her for 
Christmas. After a moment she stooped and picked 
it up, holding it close, and as she stood there with 
its loveliness all about her some one called up to 
her from the foot of the stairs. It was Mrs. Kin- 
sale, Minnie’s mother, the woman with whom she 
had lived from the time she was a baby until she 
had found her own little home high up in the roof, 
the home that had been torn down. 

It may have been the wind which always seems 
to change people’s voices at Jeffers Court, but it 
sounded almost as though Mrs. Kinsale spoke tri¬ 
umphantly when she said: 

“They come to see about the fire escape this after¬ 
noon and they tore down them boards and left your 
duds on the floor. They says as how ye hadn’t no 


280 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

business there anyhow. Ye’d best come along down 
and git supper here. There ain’t no other place 
for ye and if ye’ll keep yer tongue in yer head and 
work for yer vittuls I’ll take ye back. Mrs. Money- 
penny, she went off before the men come and took 
down the boards. She’s after goin’ to her niece, 
who had pleurisy. They’ll be a-workin’ on the 
fire escape next week!” 

After saying all this Mrs. Kinsale gave a sudden 
shriek and ran on down the hall toward her room, 
where through the open door she could see her next 
to the youngest baby sitting among the teacups on 
the untidy table, eating matches. 

Wisp stood there on the upper landing, holding 
the soft shimmering folds of the scarf close to her. 
Then she leaned over and picked up a brown paper 
book a little larger than the others. In it were 
some of her own fancies that she had written out. 
She was down the three flights in a flash, hesitating 
for a moment outside the Casey abode off the court. 
If she had not been so blinded by her misery she 
would have realized that she should have left some 
word for her friends as to where she was going, 
but nothing mattered to her then except the words 
that Keith had said and the loss of Fairy Cottage. 

There was only one thing in the world that she 
wanted just then and that was to lie down in the 
friendly shelter of the Rocky Valley and see her 
star. 

Fortune favored in that as she came out toward 


28 i 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Saint Stephen’s Green she saw a grocer boy whom 
she knew. He was driving a cart and hailed her 
good-naturedly, and almost before she knew it she 
told him that she was going toward the Rocky Val¬ 
ley, and he said that he had some orders off that 
way. One of the places where he was delivering 
groceries was Hawk House, and she thanked him and 
jumped out when they reached the gate. The grocer 
boy was a friend of Foggy’s and had given Wisp a 
lift before. He may have thought her very silent 
that day and perhaps wondered why she had the 
beautiful scarf about her shoulders, but he seldom 
wondered about anything, and it’s probable that he 
did not give it a thought. 

After she left the grocery cart Wisp was on her 
own ground. She knew all the delights of the 
Rocky Valley and some of the heaviness of her 
sorrow was lightened as she felt the faint blue-gray 
of the sky, the far sweep of purple hills, and all 
along the way new budded wild roses greeting her. 

She found herself sobbing, and as she walked the 
rugged roadway she stumbled 'because her tears 
blinded her. After a little while she turned off 
into a cowslip-bordered path and there in a fern- 
sheltered nook she lay down with her face on 
her arms and cried as she had never cried before. 

Della Dolough sang a great deal as she went 
about her work on her farm. She said it kept her 
from being lonely and she liked the sound of her 


282 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

own voice when she could not hear anything better. 
Della had a good many nice farm-folk friends who 
lived around Bray and Enniskerry and other near¬ 
by villages. She was the soul of hospitality and there 
was not much danger of her ever being really lonely, 
for her soda bread and her currant cake were the 
best anywhere around and so were her butter and 
cheese and jam and preserves. Then Della herself 
was like a sturdy, cheerful sunflower. People liked 
to sit by her freshly scrubbed hearth and enjoy the 
warmth of her splendid turf fire while they ate her 
green-gage jam and her crisp hot cakes. More than 
just that, as I have said, they all, from the home¬ 
sick curate who dropped in for a cup of tea and a 
chat in his walk across the moors, to the dairyman’s 
youngest baby, loved Della Dolough. We know 
what Beryl thought of her the time she was rescued 
by her. 

Della lived alone, but some one was visiting her 
most of the time. I can’t say she lived alone, after 
all, for she had several dogs and a cat named 
Monarch and they would have been surprised and 
disgusted to have had any one say that they were 
not a very important part of the household. 

Della and Monarch were taking a before supper 
walk. There was a pot of new potatoes over the 
fire and some slices of home-cured ham all ready 
to fry. Della was wishing that some one would 
drop in for she had made hot cakes that afternoon 
and she knew that they were good. She enjoyed a 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 283 

walk with Monarch, he was so unexpected. One 
moment he would be walking majestically beside her, 
waving his beautiful gray-plumed tail in the air, 
stepping delicately over bits of fern. The next 
moment he would be leaping across hedges, disap¬ 
pearing and reappearing in a jolly, mischievous way. 

She had missed him for some time and between 
breathing in the sweet evening air and admiring the 
saffron sweep of sunset, she would call: 

“Monarch! Oh, Monarch! Come here, my 
beauty!” 

When she did come across him he was sitting 
on the shoulder of a little girl who lay face down¬ 
ward on the bracken, sobbing. He was trying vainly 
to lick her ear and looked up with a meow of dismay 
and inquiry as Della came up to them. She gave 
him none of her attention, however, but, leaning 
over Wisp, lifted her up in her arms and held her 
so that the shock of bright hair fell across her 
shoulder, and carrying her gently, she walked across 
the way to the white gate that led to her home. 
In the east, shining through the rosy sunset, the star 
blazed joyously. 

Della poured the water off the potatoes and 
set them in a bowl to be reheated later on. She set 
the table for two and brought out Monarch’s best 
green and gold saucer so that he could feel the 
festivity of the occasion and have his milk close 
to them on the rose rag rug. 

When they did have supper it was a happy meal, 


284 JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

but the clock struck eight before they drew up to 
the little table with its snowy cloth and pretty blue 
china, its stone jar of pink baby daisies, and its hot, 
good food. It was a good while before Wisp could 
be comforted, and before Della knew all about Fairy 
Cottage and the tragedy that had befallen it, and 
it was not until they were having supper that she 
knew of the children on Fitzwilliam Square. Della 
said to her, “Ain’t it grand to have a girl sittin’ 
here with me? Taste the jam, darlin’!” 

Then Wisp told her it was the same jam they had 
had on Dalkey Island and as she talked she began 
to smile and the worst of her trouble was over. 

You may be sure that Della was astonished when 
she connected Beryl, whom she had rescued when 
her wheel was broken, with the children that Wisp 
knew. Della was so interested and happy that she 
smiled all the time at her little visitor. When they 
had finished the meal and Wisp had dried the dishes, 
standing by Della as she washed them in a wooden 
bowl, she said to her, “You were sent here to me, 
and please God ye will always stay.” 

They were standing by the bright turf fire as she 
spoke, Monarch sitting in front of them gazing 
into the glowing flames. Wisp put her hands sud¬ 
denly to her heart and looking up at her new friend, 
had that in her face which was the light of an 
answered prayer. She caught her breath in a sob. 

“Shure, it can’t be true, ma’am—no, it can’t. The 
star couldn’t give me anything so wonderful. It isn’t 


IVisp—A Girl of Dublin 285 

true; no, it can’t be.” She caught hold of the edge 
of Della’s apron and stood looking up at her, a 
world of amazement in her eyes. 

“It is true, for I’ve wanted you all my life. I’ve 
had many folks about and to stay, but you was the 
one I wanted to have come for good. There’s all 
outdoors for you, and in here there’s love.” 

It was true, but Wisp found it almost impossible 
to understand. Della wanted her for her very own, 
had thought of her since the time that Tin upset 
the apple tart, had come back to speak with her 
that afternoon when she had sold flowers on Col¬ 
lege Green. All of this was for her to know and to 
delight in, the dear white house, the barn, Monarch 
and the dogs. Della had said, “There’s all out¬ 
doors for you, and in here there’s love!” 

Fairy Cottage had gone, but her love for it 
could never die. Back there, as she stood a little 
later at the window, were the spires of a city that 
she loved, and friends: Peg, Auntie Moneypenny, 
Foggy—and the others, the children from America 
and India who had been so good to her, but here 
at last in the warm firelight was something that 
was home. Della came and stood beside her, putting 
her arm around her and drawing her close, in the 
protecting way she had for anything she cared for 
or that needed her. 

Wisp said, looking off to where the star sparkled 
against an orange-gray sky, “The star was thinkin’ 
o’ me all the time and bringin’ me to ye.” 


286 fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Della answered her gravely, “It was the good 
Father in heaven that brought ye, child.” 

Wisp smiled through her grateful tears. “Maybe 
the star told God,” she said. 



XXL— For Keith 

When the girls saw that Wisp had disappeared 
down Fitzwilliam Square they never for one moment 
thought of turning back, but ran on in the direction 
of the green. They had no hats or jackets, but the 
afternoon was warm and except that people turned 
to look at them, it did not greatly matter. They 
slacked their speed after a while and walked slowly 
at the last, talking gravely among themselves. They 
were angry and unhappy and excited, and they did 
not know just what they would do or say when they 
reached Jeffers Court. They sat down on a bench 
in the green to talk for a moment and to rest. 

“We must find Wisp first of all. She’s sure to be 
at Fairy Cottage,” said Christine. 

287 





288 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“We’ll find her and tell her we’ll never, never 
change or give her up!” exclaimed Beryl, who now 
loved Wisp very much. 

“Perhaps she will want to give us up,” suggested 
Nina unexpectedly. Nina was more excited than the 
others over the prospect of visiting Jeffers Court, 
for she had never dreamed that she could ever do 
anything so unusual and interesting. Visions of 
Aunt Witheringhaugh came before her, but only 
added to the charm of the adventure. Nina was not 
as concerned as the others, for she did not know Wisp 
as well, but she was indignant at Keith and disap¬ 
pointed, for he had seemed such a nice boy, and she 
did think Wisp wonderful, as she did all the Fitz- 
william Square children. It was a new and enthral¬ 
ling life to Nina. 

Victoria was the only one who had been up to 
Fairy Cottage, but Christine had heard so much 
about it that she felt as though she had been there 
and knew that it was three flights up. 

They found the stairs very steep and were sur¬ 
prised at the gusts of dust that seemed blown at 
them from all directions and at the sobbing sound 
of the wind. 

“Glory, what a dreadful place! I hope Fairy Cot¬ 
tage is an improvement on this,” whispered Beryl 
as they reached the foot of the last flight. We 
know what they found when they reached the top! 
The remains of Wisp’s beloved home on the floor 
and her treasures scattered about. They, like the 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 289 

owner of Fairy Cottage, could only stand in amaze¬ 
ment, staring down at the wreck. 

“What be ye a-wantin’ of?” came a loud voice 
from below, and Mrs. Kinsale creaked up the 
squeaky boards of the stairs and before they knew 
it stood looking at them with interest and curiosity. 

“What be ye a-wantin’ of?” she asked again, 
and Beryl answered her. 

“We came to find Wisp—I mean Kathleen. We 
want to see her very much. Could you tell us, please, 
where we may find her?” 

“I’d tell ye gladly, little miss, but I ain’t an idea. 
She was here but a bit o’ a while ago and she saw 
how the fire-escape men was after tearin’ down the 
hang-out where she was after stayin’. I ain’t no 
way o’ knowin’ where she went, miss. Mrs. Money- 
penny, she’s gone to her niece, so she ain’t with her.” 
Mrs. Kinsale was busy looking them up and down 
as she spoke. 

Nina pulled at Beryl’s sleeve. “Come away, 
please. I don’t like her,” she whispered, and they 
went on down the stairs without looking back, and 
did not stop until they reached the foot of the last 
flight. 

“Fairy Cottage! Did you see? It’s gone! 
Poor, poor Wisp. I know that her heart is broken!” 
exclaimed Christine as they came out again into 
the sunshine. 

“It’s hard luck! We might have asked that 
woman more about it but I didn’t like her looks. You 



290 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

see they must have come while Wisp was with us 
and taken down Fairy Cottage,” Beryl said as they 
stood, uncertain, in the courtyard. 

“It’s too cruel, and after what Keith said, too. 
Wisp, where are you? We want so to see you!” 
Christine felt in her pocket for her handkerchief 
as she spoke, for the tears were streaming down her 
face. 

“To-morrow will be Easter Sunday. It certainly 
doesn’t seem like it, does it?” Joan put her arm 
through Christine’s as she asked the question, and 
Christine answered, “It would seem like Easter if 
only we were happy about Wisp.” 

“There’s no use in staying around here any longer 
now. I don’t think Wisp would want us to ques¬ 
tion her friends. Let’s go home and think out what 
is best to be done. She’s all safe, of course, wherever 
she is. I shouldn’t wonder if she went to find 
Auntie Moneypenny, to tell her about Fairy Cottage. 
She isn’t lost. What we have to think about is how 
we can help her now that she hasn’t any home.” 
Beryl’s voice trembled a little on the last words 
and they knew then that she was trying to cover 
up her sorrow for Wisp by making plans, which 
always she so loved to do. 

The others felt that Beryl was right. Wisp prob¬ 
ably had gone to find Auntie Moneypenny at her 
niece’s and would have comfort from her. They 
went slowly back to Fitzwilliam Square, more con¬ 
cerned about their little friend than they had been 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 291 

when they left, in spite of Keith’s words. When 
they came near the house Victoria was waiting for 
them on the front steps, and when she saw them 
ran to meet them and learned the fate of Fairy Cot¬ 
tage and the fact that Wisp was not to be found 
at Jeffers Court. She agreed with them that the 
poor little owner of Fairy Cottage which now, alas, 
was no more, was somewhere with her friends. As 
they sat on the steps, all of them in the sunshine, 
Victoria said bitterly, “I hope she’s with real friends 
who won’t taunt her!” Then, to the amazement of 
all, Victoria began to cry. At the same moment 
Keith appeared in the open front doorway. 

“I say—I— Oh, what a fuss to make over 
nothing! I didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry I hurt 
the little girl’s feelings.” Keith grew very red as 
he said the last words, and if they had seen his 
face they would have softened toward him, but they 
all sat with their backs to him and no one answered 
him! He turned and went back into the house. 

Foggy came home late from his rounds and his 
usual placid self was roused to frightened haste when 
he heard from Mrs. Kinsale of Wisp’s returning to 
find her home demolished. He thought at once of 
the Fitzwilliam Square children and started out after 
a word of encouragement to Auntie Moneypenny, 
who stood in her doorway wringing her hands. She, 
too, had returned to find Wisp gone and her cot¬ 
tage under tb° roof only a wreck upon the floor. 

Foggy’s I st heart was touched and as he 



292 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

walked along toward the square he was deep in 
thought, his head bent forward, his hands in his 
pockets. He did not hear his friend of the grocery 
wagon calling to him until he gave a funny little 
whistle which they had used as a sign in their news¬ 
paper selling days at the age of ten. Then he looked 
up, hailed his friend, and went over to the side of 
the wagon to talk to him. 

“I was after givin’ a lift to Kathleen; left her at 
the beginnin’ o’ the Rocky Valley this afternoon,” 
said his grocery friend. 

So that was what she had done. She had gone 
alone in her sorrow to the place she loved the best I 
Foggy jumped up beside his friend. 

“Just you turn around and drive back up that way 
a bit, Bill,” he commanded. Bill said he did not 
mind, anything for excitement, and so he turned his 
horse around and made for the direction from which 
he had come. 

Foggy left the grocery cart at Hawk House just 
as Nina arrived at the gates, accompanied as always 
by Aunt Witheringhaugh’s severe maid. Nina ran 
at once to speak with Foggy and paid no heed to 
the maid’s formidable “Miss Nina!” 

They were deep in conversation at once and 
Foggy’s face was more solemn than when he had 
left Jeffers Court after Nina told him of Wisp’s 
running away from the Secret Room after Keith had 
found them all there. He promised to let Nina 
know as soon as Wisp was found and then she could 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 293 

phone them all at Fitzwilliam Square. Poor Nina 
was so taken out of herself that she hardly noticed 
the maid’s reproaches as they walked up the drive¬ 
way. 

Foggy started off across the Rocky Valley. It 
was dark except for the star-shine, but he knew the 
ground almost as well as Wisp herself. As he walked 
he called her name softly and said this: 

“It do be Foggy a-callin’ to ye, Kathleen. Shure 
I’ll be after buildin’ a grand Fairy Cottage for ye. 
The Fitzwilliam Square children is after breakin’ 
their hearts over ye!” There was no answer but 
the soft twitter of half sleeping birds. 

Then he thought that she might be asleep, half 
hidden among the bracken. He made up his mind 
that he must borrow a lantern. A friendly light 
streamed from the cosy white farmhouse which he 
had known by sight for so long, and he went across 
the rough, uneven ground and knocked at the green 
door. It was opened at once and by some one who 
gave him a smiling welcome and who said, “Come 
in, my lad!” 

It was Della. He looked past her, and there by 
a blazing fire, with a big gray cat cuddled in her 
lap, was his lost friend! She dropped Monarch and 
sprang toward him, and before he knew it he was 
sitting beside her on a high settle painted bright 
blue, and before him was a plate of hot supper and 
opposite him was Della. He told his story and 
they told theirs and it became more and more inter- 



294 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

esting, for Della had kept Hawk House supplied 
with fresh milk and cream and butter and chickens 
and vegetables since she could remember, and she 
was impressed to hear that Nina, whom she regarded 
as a forlorn little thing, was one of the friends who 
had taught Wisp in the Secret Room. 

They had a long talk that night, and happy-go- 
lucky, fun-loving Foggy showed a seriousness he 
had never known before. He was slow of thought 
and it was some time before Della could convince 
him that she wanted to keep his friend Kathleen 
with her for always. 

“I thought of her a sight of times after I met 
her: first, the time the heavy baby she was carrying 
in her little arms upset my apple tart. I said to 
myself, ‘Della Dolough, she needs you. She has 
the brightest face you’ve ever seen on any child 
and one thing is certain, you need her.’ Then I saw 
her again sellin’ flowers in the bitter wind, and I 
went back to speak to her. I’m thinkin’ we mortals 
be stupid indeed. I spoke with her and she told 
me of the Rocky Valley and how she loved it. Why 
didn’t I say to her, then, ‘Come, dear, and live in it 
with me’? She’ll never desert her friends in the 
tenement. Never fear that! She’s talked of them 
to me, and you and Peg Casey and the old woman 
will be as welcome here as mayflowers.” Della spoke 
earnestly and although Foggy felt a big lump in his 
throat at the thought of losing Wisp from Jeffers 
Court he was too unselfish to do more than rejoice 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 295 

at the wholesome, happy life that was opening up 
before her. He did not then know of all the good 
it was going to bring into his own life and it was 
only for his little friend that he rejoiced. 

Neither Wisp nor Foggy were familiar with the 
telephone and they were both interested when they 
found that they could speak directly with Fitzwil- 
liam Square. Foggy called up the number and spoke 
to Beryl, telling her that Wisp was safe with a friend 
in the Rocky Valley and Beryl insisted on speaking 
with Wisp herself. Then when she found that 
Wisp was in the farmhouse of the woman who had 
driven her into Dublin, nothing would do but that 
she must speak to Della, and the upshot was that 
all of them, including Miss Peck, were invited out 
to spend Easter Monday at the farm. Della said 
over the phone that she would ask Nina, too, and 
that she was sure that Aunt Witheringhaugh would 
not object. Beryl accepted for all of them and sent 
all sorts of messages from each one of them to Wisp, 
who felt suddenly shy and did not want to talk 
through the phone. 

Della did not urge Foggy to spend the night, for 
she knew that Wisp was anxious to have Auntie 
Moneypenny have news of her, but it was agreed 
that Foggy was to drive out on Easter Monday 
morning with their old friend and Peg and Tin and 
Dawson. For a long time Della had been a good 
fairy to the farmer folk and those about her with 
whom she came in touch. Now her goodness was 




296 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

reaching farther. They were all to come out for a 
long day in the country Easter Monday. 

Beryl told them all the news of Wisp as they sat 
about the library fire, all except Keith, who had not 
appeared at dinner. Wisp was out at the farmhouse 
of Della Dolough and they were all asked out for 
Easter Monday. Miss Peck was invited specially. 
Nina would be allowed to come because Aunt With- 
eringhaugh knew Della well. They talked eagerly 
among themselves, delighted at the prospect of a 
long day out in the Rocky Valley and at Della’s 
farm. 

Victoria was uneasy. Keith had made an apology. 
The others who did not know him so well could not 
realize what that meant to one of his proud nature. 
He had made an apology and they had not accepted 
it, had not replied to him. He had tried in his own 
blunt way to make amends in a measure for his 
hastiness of the afternoon and they had not met 
him halfway. 

When Beryl had finished planning and talking, 
Miss Peck said quietly that she would be glad to 
go with them Monday. 

“A whole day in the country will be a real treat. 
I cannot think of anything I should like better. I 
am used to the country and miss it especially in the 
springtime.” As she spoke the girls felt sorry 
that they had not asked her to go on their outings 
before. 

“I do wish we’d been chummier with her. She’s 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 297 

really such a dear. Wasn’t she nice about Wisp 
and the Secret Room when we told her to-night? 
And there were tears in her eyes when you told 
about finding the remains of Fairy Cottage on the 
floor,” Victoria said to Wisp as they sat by the fire 
that night. 

“She knew all about where Keith was all through 
dinner and never said a word,” said Beryl. This 
was true. Miss Peck had said simply, as they were 
leaving her for the night: 

“Keith has gone down to County Meath for a 
week-end with his friend Marton Hayes whom he 
used to know at prep school. He will be going to 
the Faery House races Monday afternoon and will 
motor up to Dublin afterward.” 

“Pecky knows a good deal more all the time than 
we give her credit for. You’re right, she is a 
dear, but do think of Pecky lost on Dalkey Island, 
or Pecky on Fairy Hill. It takes away all the 
glamour,” laughed Christine. 

Victoria was regretting that she had not seen 
her brother to say good^by before he left for 
County Meath; sorry with all her heart that she 
had not met him in kind when he had said that he 
was sorry. 

She was thinking of him as they drove through the 
warm scented air toward the Rocky Valley Monday 
morning, but as soon as they reached the farm the 
joy of seeing Wisp and finding her so happy, the 
beauty of the day and the friendly joyousness all 



298 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

about her, made her forget her gloomy thoughts 
entirely. 

It was a holiday for Foggy, as it was Easter Mon¬ 
day, and he arrived in good time, bringing Auntie 
Moneypenny and Peg and the children with him. 
He looked worried. After Peg and all the others 
had gone off to explore the Rocky Valley, and Auntie 
Moneypenny had been made to drink a glass of fresh 
milk and was resting by the low stone doorstep, he 
motioned Della to one side. 

“I wouldn’t be after scarin’ the others and maybe 
it ain’t anything, but I’m afeard there’s going to be 
trouble in Dublin to-day, from certain words I heard 
dropped this mornin’. Maybe I did wrong in bring- 
in’ them out, ma’am, but maybe ’twas only talk,” he 
said to Della. 

“That’s it. That’s all it was. Now don’t you 
worry, just forget the city and enjoy yourself,” Della 
answered him. It was easy enough to do that in the 
Rocky Valley, and before he knew it he was playing 
hide and seek or jumping in the hay as happily as 
any one, his cares forgotten and the magic loveliness 
of the day enthralling him. 

They had dinner at noon and the Casey children 
did such ample justice to the chicken and bread sauce 
and the apple tart and thick, yellow cream that it 
did not seem as though they would ever be able to 
eat again. They all sat around a table placed just 
outside the door and all around them was the blue- 
gray of the mist-covered land and beyond the purple 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 299 

and blue of mountains and hills and deeply shadowed 
valleys and near them the towers of a proud city. 

“Wasn’t Auntie Moneypenny simply dear at din¬ 
ner? Her manners were as fine as a duchess’s, 
weren’t they?” Christine asked Victoria afterwards. 

She nodded and answered, “She’s real. That’s 
the reason. Did you see how she and Pecky talked 
together before dinner? They seemed to hit it off 
so well. I don’t suppose Pecky has ever seen any 
one just like her before.” 

“I don’t believe she’s ever seen any one like 
Pecky,” laughed Christine. 

Wisp had often felt that she was living in a dream, 
but never more so than that misty golden afternoon 
with the sun as hot as June, a sweep of wild roses 
everywhere over hedges, under foot, along the path¬ 
ways, by the brook, and the lilacs’ deep mauve send¬ 
ing their scent to mingle with the bracken fragrance. 
She was really alive on a real day. The white farm¬ 
house was to be her home. Her friends had come to 
pass the whole day, to share with her this joy which 
as yet she could not understand. She was alone for 
a moment resting on the stone wall, for she was “it” 
at hide and seek. Suddenly she heard the brisk 
trot of horses’ hoofs on the hard road and a red¬ 
faced farmer deriving a pair of horses came into 
view around the bend in the road. He drew up 
when he saw Wisp. 

“Er ye a-stayin’ with Della?” he queried. She 
nodded, smiling in her friendly way. 



300 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

“Yes, sir, maybe for always,” she answered. 

“Well, ye can tell Della as how she’s to keep to 
home to-day. There’s a deal of trouble in the city, 
shootin’ and fightin’, why, it’s goin’ to be a revolu¬ 
tion! Folks ain’t a-goin’ to have no picnic gittin’ 
home from the races. My nephew phoned me from 
the city, but I ain’t been able to get a connection 
since. I’m a-goin’ down to bring my daughter 
home!” 

While he was speaking Wisp had been doing 
some rapid thinking. Keith was coming back into 
the city, into a revolution, coming from the Faery 
House races. Keith could not find help from any 
of his own kind. It was she, a child of the people, 
who could help him, some one who was able to 
understand something of the emotion that was caus¬ 
ing this wild outbreak. For Wisp, Ireland was a 
fairy thing; she loved it entirely, but she loved it 
with the peace of flowers and sunsets and dreams, 
not with anything else. She and the children had 
lived in their own fancies, as much away from 
the thought of war as they could, and now war 
had come to their very door and they must face 
it. 

“Could ye give me a pencil and a bit o’ paper?” 
she asked* the farmer, and when he handed the 
desired objects to her she wrote this note: 

Dear Della: 

Please don’t be scared. There is fightin’ in Dublin. I 
won’t be hurt, not a bit. Don’t let any o’ ’em git home, 


JVisp—A Girl of Dublin 301 

’t ain’t safe. I’m going for Master Keith. We’ll be back 
to-night. I love ye. 

Wisp. 

“Would ye be so good as to take me a bit o’ the 
way, sir? I’ve an errand down that way,” she asked 
the farmer, and he assented good-naturedly. She 
ran to the doorstep and leaning over Auntie Money- 
penny, who was dozing, she put the note in her lap. 
Della was showing Miss Peck her dairy at the other 
side of the house. 

The farmer’s horse went at a good pace and they 
were on the outskirts of the city before they knew 
it. Wisp asked to be put down as the farmer said 
he wanted to turn off a side road, and after thanking 
him she ran swiftly along the Stillorgan Road, so 
swiftly that she was almost out of sight before the 
farmer had stopped looking after her. 

“She kin git along! She’ll be after havin’ friends 
along the end o’ the road maybe,” he thought, little 
dreaming that she was bound straight for the heart 
of Dublin, a city now in the midst of wild fighting. 

It was only a little way into the city and she could 
run like a young deer. As she ran she tried to plan 
what was best to do and to keep fear of not finding 
Keith out of her thoughts. She made up her mind 
that it might be best to go to Fitzwilliam Square 
first of all, but as she came farther into the city she 
made another plan. The farmer had spoken of 
heavy fighting in the green which had begun at 



302 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

once with the starting of the revolution. Saint Ste¬ 
phen’s Green, her green, beloved of the ducks and 
flowers—she had almost grown up in the green 
and she could not believe that evil could come near it. 

As she came down Baggot Street a confusion of 
sound greeted her, shouting and firing, and a woman 
called to her from a window to go back. She did 
stand still for a moment trying to think what was 
best to do. Her great wish was to find Keith. She 
did not know how, but she felt that she could help 
him. Her next wish was to return as quickly as 
she could to the Rocky Valley so that her friends 
there would not have long to worry about her. She 
ran quickly on toward the green. Twice she stopped 
and it seemed as though she could not go any farther, 
for she heard the sharp sound of rifles and once or 
twice she saw something fly past her. No one would 
have harmed her if they knew she was running 
along there opposite the green, but in being out on 
the streets in the most dangerous part of Dublin 
that day, she was liable to be hit by a stray bullet 
just as any soldier might be. 

She started to turn down Dawson Street, thinking 
to get that way to College Green where she could 
see the motors coming from the races, the motors 
that the farmer said were being stopped, but soldiers 
were coming up that way and she ran on to the end 
of the street, and as she reached the corner she saw 
that there was a holdup of cars and as she looked 
her heart seemed to leap right up into her mouth, 


fVisp—A Girl of Dublin 303 

for standing up in his friend’s car in his familiar 
brown tweed suit and cap stood Keith! 

“Thank ye, Star, for sendin’ me this way,” thought 
Wisp as she ran across the street toward the car. 




XXII.— Irish Spring 


Keith was talking angrily with some Sinn Fein 
soldiers. 

“I tell you I won’t get out and I won’t go into the 
green. You have no right to stop me. Clear out 
and let me get by!” Keith was so angry that he 
could hardly speak and he did not even see Wisp 
as she flew up to them. 

A soldier pointed a revolver at Keith. He did 
not intend to shoot him, but he wanted him to 
understand that he must come with them as prisoner 
to the green! 

What happened next always seemed like a dream 
to Wisp and to Keith as well. Wisp seemed to 
appear in their midst all of a sudden as though she 
had dropped out of the sky. As usual she wore no 
hat and her hair flew wildly about her dusty, eager 
304 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 305 

little face. Della had not had time to make her 
any clothes and she wore the same drab frock and 
the jacket flapping away from its one button. She 
was breathing quickly after her wild run. 

“What be ye a-thinkin’ of? Can’t ye see he ain’t 
anything but a friend? Ain’t I after cornin’ for him 
to take him out to Della Dolough’s farm to see his 
brother and sisters? He’s my friend and his sisters 
is friends o’ mine and o’ others at Jeffers Court.” 

“He may get to Portobello Barracks and make 
trouble. He’s got to come to the green as our pris¬ 
oner,” one of the men answered her, and she looked 
at him keenly as he spoke. 

“Ain’t ye Tod Gaffery what has been friend to 
Foggy Moyne? Shure, I know ye well and Foggy’s 
me best friend. Can’t ye believe me when I tell ye 
straight that he’s our friend, too?” She jumped up 
on the running board of the car and stood there 
facing them, smiling fearlessly at them. She seemed 
suddenly to hold the whole situation in her hands, 
and as she smiled at them they smiled back. There 
was no mistaking the honesty of her words. Who¬ 
ever the boy might be, the little girl was one of 
their own people, speaking their own way. The 
man called Gaffery, who had been a friend to Foggy 
and who seemed to be in command, turned to the 
other soldiers. 

“Let the car with the boy and the girl go through,” 
he said. 

Wisp was over the side of the car, sitting next 




306 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

Keith in a twinkling and they were off toward the 
Stillorgan Road before one could say “Jack Rob¬ 
inson,” off like the wind, and they did not slow up 
until they were well along toward the Rocky Valley. 
Then Keith stopped the car and held out his hand 
to Wisp. 

“I want to say first that I’m sorry before I thank 
you. It’s not that I’m just sorry now—I have been 
right along ever since Saturday. I told the girls 
so. Now I want to thank you for perhaps saving 
my life. Do you understand, Wisp—this is a revo¬ 
lution?” 

Wisp shook her head. Her dusty little face was 
white and sudden tears came to her eyes. 

“No, I can’t be after thinkin’ it can be. I want 
for Ireland to be just happy. I ain’t thought about 
things that way. Children don’t.” 

Keith told her as they went on of how he had 
heard rumors on his way in from the races and had 
thought only of getting through so that he could go 
on to the Rocky Valley for his sisters and the 
others. 

They were all down by the stone wall, except 
Auntie Moneypenny, when Keith drove the motor up 
to them. The rest of the evening was a mixture of 
gratitude and joy and excitement and fear, for news 
of the growing revolution came from people driving 
through who had come from the city. The tele¬ 
phone wires were cut and there was no chance of 
any one going back to the city that night. 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 307 

There is much more than just the next two weeks 
that I want to tell you about. But I know you will 
want to hear first that Miss Peck and the others 
except Beryl stayed at Hawk House with Aunt 
Witheringhaugh and Nina during the two weeks of 
the revolution, and that Beryl stayed at the farm 
which she so loved with Della and Foggy and Wisp 
and Auntie Moneypenny and Peg and the children. 
There was room for them all. It was a happy time 
in spite of the trouble so near them, for when people 
who love each other are together out in the sun¬ 
shine, it is easy to be happy. There were sad times, 
too, and times of fear when they saw the flames of 
burning buildings leaping against the sky from the 
city they loved, but finally the sad time went by and 
the last evening came. The girls and Patrick and 
Keith were to go with Miss Peck to England where 
Keith was to go back to school and the others to 
visit Uncle James until midsummer, when they would 
all come again. 

Auntie Moneypenny was anxious to go back to 
her own little room and her own possessions, but 
she promised to come out for week-ends as did 
Foggy and the others. There would always be room 
for them and a welcome at Della’s. 

As for Wisp, there would be times in spite of 
“all outdoors and love in the house” when she 
would miss her Fairy Cottage with a deep pang at 
her heart, but she was so grateful and happy that 
the times would grow fewer and farther apart. She 



308 Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

was in an ecstasy of living, out in the Rocky Valley, 
and although the last evening had come and she 
would not see her friends until July, she could wish 
them good-by with a light heart, knowing that they 
would surely come back and that all of them were 
her friends, Keith as much as the others. 

They all sat out on the stone fence watching the 
sunset that last night when Christine said to Wisp, 
“Tell us some last thing about Ireland.” 

And Wisp answered, “I don’t twist me words as 
much as I did, but this won’t sound just right. It’s 
a bit of a verse I made up. If ye like it each one 
can learn to say it and it can be a kind o’ bond o’ 
friendship between us. Me heart’s fair burstin’ with 
joy for all the good that’s come me way, the lessons 
in the Secret Room and ye all so kind a-helpin’ o’ 
me and us all bein’ friends—and the Rocky Valley 
and Della. I thank the star every night. It knows 
I’ve moved from Fairy Cottage. It brought me 
here! I’ll say this poem to yez. I was after makin’ 
it up the night Tin had the croup.” She leaned over 
to pat Monarch and then she said the poem: 

IRISH SPRING 

’Tis fairy time in Ireland in the spring 
With the golden hush o’ star-shine on the hill, 
Gleamin’ veils o’ silver dew, 

Shadows soft and blue, 

’Tis wonder time in Ireland in the spring. 


309 


Wisp—A Girl of Dublin 

’Tis dreamin’ time in Ireland in the spring 
With the field o’ cowslips gleamin’ in the sun, 
And the tender fragile sheen 
O’ the softest palest green 
O’ the leaves that bud in Ireland in the spring. 

God keep Ireland safe through all the spring, 
’Tis her holy time o’ all the year, 

Violets blue and primrose pale, 

Columbine and lilies frail 
Breathe peace and love to Ireland in the spring. 














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